


A Noiseless, Patient Spider

by RakishAngle (afterdinnerminx)



Series: You Always Surprise Me, Don't Ever Stop [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Mystery Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdinnerminx/pseuds/RakishAngle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Prequel to "Come Find Me" explaining how Jack Robinson and Phryne's posse made that London scavenger hunt happen.  </p><p>Oh...and Jack has a "Mac."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Noiseless, Patient Spider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babsmd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsmd/gifts).



"Lottie Banks, you leave that boy alone!" Bettie Trenton stood at her full height with her hands on her hips. "He clearly doesn't like that." She felt sorry for Theodore Robinson's nephew, pinned and supine underneath her needlessly aggressive - and recently boy-crazy - cousin, Lottie. 

"You make me." Lottie didn't like being told what to do.

Bettie stared her down. "Mr. Robinson is a guest of my father. And when your father finds out about your appalling manners, he will have your hide." Bettie pinched Lottie's ear to pull her off her prey. 

"Fine! I'm going!" Lottie shook off her cousin and stormed back to the house with two sets of eyes watching her back.

Bettie turned back to Jack and held her hand out to help him up. He looked at her sullenly. "What? Are you sore because a girl trapped you or because a girl rescued you?" 

"I'm not sore."

"Oh, sure. I can see very clearly that you aren't sore. Why didn't you defend yourself?"

"I don't hit girls."

"No, I suppose you shouldn't." Jack took her hand and she pulled him up. "Come on, then. I'll walk you out of here."

"I don't need help. I can go by myself."

"Then, it won't bother you to know that Lottie is hiding just around the corner waiting for you."

His face is precious. Oh, bless him, she thinks. She does feel at least a little bad about feeling amused that their houseguest has been traumatized during his short visit. 

"I think I'll join you after all."

"We can go the long way to make sure we avoid her. Have you seen the rest of the estate?" 

He shook his head.

Bettie took her role as host seriously. She was the oldest of the children, including the ones who were visiting for summer holidays. She was 11 years old - at least a whole year older than Jack.

"I'll show you around then."

She showed him how to get to the stables and to the lake. Then she took him to her mother's gardens. She pointed out the peacocks on the grounds. The ended up at her favorite reading spot. "Do you like poetry, Jack?" Bettie pulled a well loved looking _Leaves of Grass_ from her pocket. 

"I don't know any" He squished his face.

"You might like this one..." she flicked through some pages to find the poem she wanted to share.

_"A noiseless, patient spider,_  
_I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated:_  
_Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,_  
_It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;_  
_Ever unreeling them - ever tirelessly speeding them._

_And you, O my Soul, where you stand,_  
_Surrounded, surrounded in measureless oceans of space,_  
_Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing - seeking the spheres, to connect them;_  
_Till the bridge you will need, be form'd - till the ductile anchor hold;_  
_Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul."_

Jack didn't understand it at all. It just sounded like some funny words.

"People really like that stuff?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Why can't they talk like normal people?"

"You'll understand it when you are older."

Jack glowered at her. He didn't like when he couldn't understand something. He especially didn't like being talked down to by another kid.

Bettie looked over to see him sulking again.

"She didn't do it right. It isn't supposed to hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"Loads of poetry is written all about kisses and romance. When it is done right, it is all so wonderful." Bettie pontificated in her most mature voice.

"I don't believe you."

"If I promise not to throw you down on the ground like Lottie did, would you like me to show you?"

Jack squinted his eyes and balled up his hands into fists inside his pockets. "No, it was horrible. Really horrible. Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that to another person?"

"If you're chicken, just say so. I was just trying to help."

"I'm not chicken."

"Bawk bawk bawk." She teased him.

She saw him turn bright red and stopped. "I'm sorry. You aren't chicken. I wouldn't like it if Lottie kissed me either. But you know what they say about falling off a horse..."

"I don't have a horse."

"No, silly. Its a saying: "If you fall off a horse, you need to just get right back on." It means if you have a bad experience, you need to try it again so that you don't become scared of things in the future."

Jack looked at her skeptically. She seemed nicer than the other girl. And he wasn't chicken.

"Alright."

"Close your eyes."

Jack squinted his eyes so they were almost but not totally closed.

She laughed. "I know you can see. Close your eyes for real."

He looked at her again and nibbled at his bottom lip while he was thinking about it. He wasn't so sure about this.

Jack swallowed, took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. Nothing.

He counted to five. Still nothing. He opened one eye to see what was happening.

She was still standing there in front of him, smiling at him nicely. "No really, I'll do it this time. Close your eyes."

He closed his eyes. Bettie kissed him sweetly - both of her lips on both of his lips - and then pulled back. Jack opened his eyes.

"See, it wasn't horrible, was it?"

Jack shook his head no.

Bettie turned and started walking toward the house. Jack caught up to her and walked next to her. "Look at you, Jack Robinson. You are just like that noiseless, patient spider, aren't you?"

He wasn't sure what she meant by that but it sounded nice.

 

**6th September, 1929 - noon**

Dr. Elizabeth "Mac" Macmillan is not a woman who easily shocked. At this particular moment, she is speechless. And livid.

She had taken the tram to visit Detective Inspector Jack Robinson to review the medical report of a case they closed some time ago. The prosecution had asked for assistance in preparing details against evidence collected for the prosecution. She also wanted to see if Jack had thought about taking up a certain offer delivered to him just a few hours ago, along with a kiss that should have knocked him silly.

Imagine her surprise when she sees no one other than Jack-Bloody-Robinson having an intimate (!) lunch with a woman she has never seen. They are on Dodds Street, around the corner from City South police station. It was merely hours after he said good bye to the woman who was supposed to be the woman of his dreams. And there he was! In the window! Speaking just inches away from another woman's beautiful face.

She had to walk away quickly to start processing what it was that she just saw. There was no way in hell that this woman was a relative, not that Mac knew anything about his family. Or friends. But she could easily tell that these two were more than friends. Dammit. 

What is she going to do now? She knows what she wants to do. Strangle him!

No, scratch that. If she strangles him, there won't be any wounds to throw salt into. 

Mac walked around the block to calm down. She was vaguely aware that people were either stepping off the curb or crossing the street all together to get out of her way. What the hell was he thinking? Jack Robinson finally gets what he wants and he has someone else?

He looks happy. Shit!

Mac is almost too busy shooting daggers into the back of Jack's head to notice his lunch companion glance over. Mac's eyes go completely round as she watches _that woman_ reach over to hold his hand. And stroke it!

Mac pivots on her heel and tries walking around the block again in the other direction. The woman was stunning. And stylish. And had eyes for Jack - and Jack only. How the hell does he do it?

And, where's a damn bar when you need one? She continues to pace away from the restaurant window. She stops to light a cigarette. 

"Share your light?" Mac catches a withering gaze coming from a pair of cinnamon-colored eyes straight into hers. Jack's lunch date is as tall as she is. Light brown hair, curled elegantly and pinned up. Exquisitely tailored skirt suit draping over a shapely figure.

"Well, that was quite a look you were sharing with me a few moments ago. Since we haven't met, am I to assume that you may know my lunch companion?"

"Unfortunately" replied Mac. She isn't one to go off-hinge, especially on the basis of circumstantial evidence. An exception is made in this case. 

"I see. Might you happen to be a friend of Miss Phryne Fisher?"

"A very good one." 

"Excellent. I'm a very good friend of Jack Robinson."

Mac caved first. "Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan."

"Mrs. Bettie Stadler. So..."

"So." Mac doesn't know where to start so she begins in a huff. "He just bloody saw off my best friend, who is expecting him to come after her. I didn't expect him to see him having an intimate lunch with another woman."

"Well, my best friend just professed his love for some bloody woman who had already broken his heart at least once before going off and leaving the damn country with no known return date."

The two women squared up with each other, neither feeling particularly friendly.

"Right. I need a drink."

"Good. You're buying."

The two women return to the restaurant, order their respective drinks and sit down across from each other at a table. Mac leans back against the back of the chair, one elbow over the arm, places the cut crystal surface against her forehead and looks to the opposing wall. Bettie sits upright, cross-legged with pursed lips watching the door.

The two women let minutes of silence pass.

"Really, it is between them. Not my business."

"Nor mine. But here we are."

Both women are still bristling. Mac has clearly implied that she believes Bettie to be Jack's lover.

Bettie speaks first. "Have you and she ever..."

Mac throws her eyes up at the ceiling and lets them fall quickly to the table before turning her head over to the right side. "We might have..." After a short pause, she adds "Have you and he..."

"We might have." Bettie crosses her arms in addition to her legs before looking at the other side of the room. 

They wait a few more moments. 

Each woman notes that the other cares very deeply about their respective friend, whom each has likely shared some physical intimacy and not about to reveal confidences unnecessarily. 

Bettie speaks. "It would appear we should understand each other." 

Mac responds. "It would appear so."

"Does she really want him to follow her?"

Mac raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Yup."

"Then why'd she go?"

"It's complicated. Is he going to go after her?"

"He thinks she was speaking in metaphor."

"God, they are both idiots." 

For the first time, the women smile.

"Why were you standing outside?"

"I was coming over to discuss a case." Mac looks at the ceiling. "And share some steamer schedules. In case he was interested."

"Hand 'em over."

The two women cautiously share their thoughts about their mutual friends. About how horribly it could turn out. About how happy it could make them. Ultimately - even though it was none of their business - they agreed that Jack and Phryne were genuinely in love and wanted to be together. 

"Has Miss Fisher given any thought at all as to how Jack is supposed to adhere to her wishes?"

"She's clueless."

"If he knew how he'd get over there, does he have means to do so?"

"Probably not." Bettie acknowledged. "But, I do."

 

**6th September, 1929 - 2pm**

There isn't a man alive who would respond with anything other than fear for one's life in the following situation: Two very beautiful and very determined women parade into your office. They close the door behind them and sit down in front of you without asking permission. Then they look at you. Straight at you. Expecting something.

Jack Robinson is a man. He is currently alive. He is worried about staying that way.

Also worrying: When did they meet?

Mac pulled out P&O, Blue Star and Orient Line steamer ship schedules from her bag and placed them on Jack's desk.

The two women were sitting in front of him expectantly. They are in the exact same pose: legs and arms crossed, right over left.

"It may not be a metaphor, Jack." said Bettie.

"Definitely, not a metaphor, Jack." said Mac.

"As it happens, I'm going to Western Union. I have an urgent telegram to post." Bettie looks at Jack.

"This is Phryne's location." Mac continues to look at Jack as she hands a hard over to Bettie. 

Bettie opens up the P&O brochure and points out a date. November first. She writes a brief note on the other side of the card Mac just handed to her. She slides the note over to Jack. 

"P&O 1 November 1929  
Correct meaning?"

"Shall I send this telegram off as long as I'm there?" Bettie asked.

Bettie held Jack's eyes. 

He wanted to go. He just couldn't admit it. His eyes darted back and forth between hers. What did he need? Permission?

Jack must have found what he was looking for. His eyes flickered and he dipped his chin just slightly. Bettie knew him well enough to take this invisible gesture as agreement. 

"Very good." She picked up the card and left the inspector and the coroner to discuss their case.

"Now," Bettie thought to herself. "Let's see how quickly Mata Hari can return a damn telegraph..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A particularly wonderful reader requested that I include some questions, thoughts and comments within these chapters. I'm writing because I'm curious about something - if it stirs something similar in you, I'd love to see you share it. Please feel free to comment against these and to start discussions with me or other people. 
> 
> The chapter titles are exactly each line of Walt Whitman's (referred to as WW from now) poem A Noiseless, Patient Spider: chapter 1 = line 1, chapter 10 = line 10. That, along with the initial prompt to create a backstory/prequel for Come Find Me, were the only constraints I used for writing.
> 
> So, here go some questions:
> 
> a. What did Bettie see in Jack that made her call him out as the spider? How does she reference this here and in future chapters?
> 
> b. Spiders have 8 limbs, people have 4 (two people have 8) - also, the spider in the WW poem is considered a metaphor for the soul - what if the 'spider' existed as a temporary entity of 2 people and the space between them?
> 
> c. Like the above, the poem clearly has an "I" and a "you" in addition to the "spider". This element of three and of the different perspectives is invoked in the structure of each chapter. All but two of them have 3 sections - one has four, one has two - but all of them explore this concept.


	2. I Mark'd, Where, One A Little Promontory, It Stood, Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More backstory with Bettie. 
> 
> If you *hate* the thought of Jack having an old friend...just wait for the next chapter. Don't read this one. Totally essential to the story. But I get it. Sometimes the Phrack can't be violated. It is kinda violated in this chapter. Don't hate me. I think it works.

**15 June, 1927**

**Fatal Motoring Accident in Richmond.**  
_War Veteran Perished_

_Melbourne, June 15_

_Mr. Michael Lawrence Stadler, a one time Lieutenant Colonel (LTCOL) for the First Australian Imperial Force defending the Suez Canal and later the Dardanelles, met with a tragic death yesterday. It is presumed that Mr. Stadler lost control of his vehicle when it encountered black ice and crashed into a tree near Citizens Park. He was alone at the time. It is expected that a verdict of accidental death will be returned at the inquest later this week._

_Mr. Stadler is survived by his wife of eighteen years, Mrs. Elizabeth Stadler (nee Trenton) and their sons Michael Lawrence (junior), who is fifteen years of age and Edward Theodore, who is six years of age._

Jack brought a cup of tea over to Bettie and sat down on the couch beside her. He stole a sideways glance at his friend, who had been staring at her hands for the past hour. He picked up the newspaper from the coffee table, folded and stuck it behind him on the couch. He cleared his throat. “Rosie is up with Eddie. She’s reading his favorite story, I think.”

Jack suspected the death, while accidental, could have well been prevented. Since returning from the war, Michael had been acting as if he was indestructible. Since the war didn’t get to him, nothing would. It was one way to respond. Jack’s way was different. He had withdrawn. Others turned to drink, opium. He had Bettie had spoken over the past 6 years about Michael’s growing need to take chances. He became careless with horses. Michael had ridden a prize stallion until it seized, requiring them to put it down. He would gamble huge sums of money. He drove recklessly, to his ultimate demise. Despite their problems, and who didn’t have them, the marriage appeared to be more successful than most. They were a handsome, charming couple that made a good show at social events.

“It is cruel thing to ask a wife to identify the body of her husband, Jack.”

He knew.

“He was unrecognizable. I can’t look at a picture, never mind think about him, the way he was. His face was mangled.”

Jack had his own nightmares of comrades-in-arms dead…dying. They haunt you. He knows it must be worse with a spouse. He is grateful Rosie didn’t have this experience. She could have. His job can be dangerous. 

It was nice of Rosie to accompany him to make this visit. He hadn’t yet shared with Bettie or anyone else that Rosie had moved in with her sister. He hoped it would be temporary. That something would fall back into place with them.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep the girl out of the paper?”

No, Jack didn’t know. What girl?

“His latest. _Tessa_ if that was her real name. Michael would arrange to meet them at his gentleman’s club. You didn’t know? He’s done this for years. Apparently, he had a hell of a night gambling. He left the place tires squealing to celebrate with his mistress. It was his fault, Jack. Totally his fault.” 

“God. Bettie, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes are bone dry. Her calm belies the emotion he knows she must be feeling. He can’t tell what emotion that is.

“I hate him. I do. The real wreck wasn’t on the road; it’s what the bastard left behind.” 

Jack sees her eyes start focusing to different spots around the room. The family photos on the mantle. The tea service. The settee that is a little too worn for someone of her social status. The dark square on the wall where a painting must have been displayed until recently. 

She starts shaking as if she has become cold. “Everyone looks at me like they know what I’m feeling. How sad I must be that he’s gone. How can you be mad at a dead person? He wasn’t as wonderful as everyone thought. Maybe if he was, this would be easier. But how do I grieve him now? How do I help Michael, Jr? Or Eddie? I can’t share this with them. I can’t …”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack watched the swell of pink rise from her chest to her forehead. “Tell you what? That he said I was wearisome? That he found me repulsive? After Eddie…he just wouldn’t…he…” One tear fell. Then another.

Jack had heard men speak of their wives in this way. Some men didn’t like the changes they saw in their wife after childbirth. He couldn’t comprehend it. They have a child for godsakes. From the woman they married. How could that not make her the most attractive woman to them? Fools don’t know what they have. And Bettie? She is stunning. Even if he wasn’t biased, she was known for her beauty. He knew her to be this way inside and out.

“He’s wrong. Bettie, he’s so wrong.” He leaned over and held her hand. 

She looked at him vacantly. She didn’t believe what he was saying. “Listen to me. Please. Please, listen. It isn’t true, what he said.”

Her eyes pricked with tears before she closed her eyes. Jack cupped her head and brought his lips to her ear. “I hope you don’t really believe that. I know better than him, Bettie. He couldn’t be more wrong.” He held her close, wishing the circumstances allowed him to show her this truth.

 

**March, 1929**

Bettie put 2 cups of tea on the coffee table at the couch and sat down. He looked like hell. 

"What’s wrong?" 

Jack is the first person she has known that has gone through a divorce. Her friend had been so calm through this entire process. It was bound to catch up with him - whether it would be at the court, after he received the final decree. She knows from experience that grief doesn’t come as or when it is expected. Maybe he got caught out from a random memory. It happens. 

She tried again. "Is it the divorce? Did Rosie say something?" He says nothing. She leans forward to put her palm on the back of his hand and scoop his fingers into hers. 

She waited as she watched him struggle to make the muscles of his mouth respond to his thoughts. She notices that he missed a spot under his jaw while shaving that morning. Eventually, his head dropped forward and his lower lip wavered. He brought his head back up and looked at her with wet, heavy eyes.

"Phryne." He whispered, as if this word would make it all clear. 

She clearly didn’t understand what he was saying. His eyes quickly searched the room "It's … over." 

Oh dear. Jack Robinson is in love and it is not going well. Did not go well. She isn’t quite sure what the status is.

“Jack, who is Phryne?” 

"...didn't tell you...sorry". 

No, he didn’t tell her. She knew about Concetta. Louisa. Dinner with Mary. Good lord, the women who fall into his web. She knows – or thought she knew – that he hadn’t been with anyone else since Rosie. Why wouldn’t he tell her about this one? Probably because it made him feel like this.

Red swept over his chest and face, culminating in the ballooning of veins about his forehead. He dropped his head into his hand as if that motion could rub out all of his feelings.

“Who is she? What happened, Jack?”

In over 20 years, she had never seen Jack Robinson cry. He wouldn’t now if he could help it.

“How serious is this?” She said this more softly.

“Unrequited.” Jack took a breath and recovered. He gave her a half-smile and shook it off. Tried to, anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Serious, then.

They sat together for some time before speaking again. She couldn’t tell him it would be okay. It might not be. Or, that there would be others. There might not be. Or, that it wasn’t important. It clearly was. She wanted to show she cared, that she understood. She wanted to help take some of the pain away.

“Do you remember when we were young? Our summers together?”

Of course he remembered. They were glorious. She was glorious. “Why do you ask?”

“You were so good about my getting married. Being careful not to…” Summer after summer, they had become more adventurous in exploring each other. First, more kisses. Then, she showed hers. He showed his. That afternoon with strawberries. Exploring a little bit more with each visit. She suspects that the wedding was moved up several months because her mother was nervous about the boy next door visiting for another summer. 

Bettie and Jack entered their respective marriages in tact. Does that term apply to men as well? She knew he was a virgin because he found a few moments at his own wedding to ask for some last minute advise. “Do that thing…take your time…remember the way we would…” He was so fun and so willing. And, so sweet about everything. She hoped that Rosie enjoyed him.

They were still sitting on the couch holding hands. He raised her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. “I wouldn’t have risked…never.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Often.” So did she. 

“Would you ever…?” 

Without thinking, he nodded. “Would you?”

She studied him. He looked broken, lonely. They were so kind to each other so many years ago. She thought they still would be now. “I would.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I love you – you know that. We are good friends. I wouldn’t intend that we would pursue…how would you say this? I think we could be discrete.” 

Her thoughts about wanting this were simple but her thoughts about what it meant for her to pursue an arrangement like this wasn’t simple at all. “It has been a long time since I …I’m not supposed to want this, am I?” 

He put his palm on her cheek. She leaned into it. “It doesn’t matter what you’re supposed to want. You just do.”

“We wouldn’t be hurting anyone, would we?”

“No,” he replied. He pulled her in to stroke her hair. She looked sad. Maybe he could be here for her now the way he couldn’t before. He kissed her sweetly. Both of his lips on both of her lips. He pulled back a few inches. They exchanged teary smiles.

Her skin tasted different than he remembered but she felt the same. A safe haven. He thought of that time they snuck away to hide under benches in the hot house. That was the summer she came back and told him people in France kissed with their tongues. Their tongues! The number of times they tried and it was terrible. But eventually it was wonderful. Jack found himself laughing. 

“What?” She found herself compelled to laugh with him. 

“The hot house.” 

“Oh, dear. Thank goodness we got better.” 

“Do you want to?” He asked this seriously.

“Yes.”

Jack took her hand and led her up a narrow set of stairs and up to his compact bedroom. The temperature must be cool for her. Perhaps the sheets wouldn’t be nice. Maybe he would let her down. He stood in the doorway with his back to the frame and held her hands against his chest. “Are you certain?” 

“No.” Her eyebrows squeezed together. “What if you…” What if Michael was right? What if I’m ruined? What if it isn’t possible to share that kind of pleasure with someone again? 

“He was wrong.” Bettie looked at Jack – she didn’t say any of that aloud.

Jack cupped her face in his hands and kissed at the tears traveling down her face. He let them guide his affection to her chin, to her neck and back to her lips. 

She shut her eyes tightly as he undressed her. She didn’t want to see his reaction. She was eighteen years older than the last time he had seen her. Her skin was less resilient. Her breasts were slack after having nursed two children; her nipples permanently rigid – the soft pink color she liked had evolved into a reddish stain. He hadn’t seen the scar from her last delivery that left her infertile. All of this would be new.

“Bettie. Open your eyes, please.” She blinked and looked at the ceiling. “Look at me.” She couldn’t make her eyes focus on his.

Jack pulled her in for a full body hug. He kissed her and cradled her head. God, what did Michael do to you? “Shhh. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”They stood in the doorway until she stopped trembling. 

Her emotions - their emotions - are all over the place today. She decides to proceed. She put her hands on his chest and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He pulled off his tie. She removed his shirt. He looked different. His muscles are still lean and ropey but he is stronger and more solid. He was taller. How had she not noticed before? 

She watched her hands unbutton his fly then push down his trousers along with his drawers. He stepped out of them, along with socks and shoes. She was staring. “Am I so different?” She looked up at him and nodded. He was so much lovelier than she remembered.

She looked into the room and laughed nervously. “A bed. That would be a first.” 

He nodded. He held her hand and walked to the closest side of the bed. He pulled back the bedclothes and got in, pulling her on top of him. Their first time was for her. He was gentle and thorough. Reminding of her of what it meant to be desirable.

The second time was for them. Fun and playful. Remembering what each other felt like. Exploring how they had changed and how they hadn’t.

The third time was for him. It was raw and powerful. This time when he came, he crumpled and wept violently. A sheen of sweat still covered him as he lay in her lap with one arm over his eyes, fat tears landing on her thighs as if even they didn’t want to be in his body.

“Tell me about her, Jack.” He shared how he and the lady detective met and how their investigations transformed over time. He described her compassion for everyone it seemed, but him. Her brilliance. Her deceptions. The evenings after a case ended. The stream of invitations, of flirtations, of other men. His particular irritation for “old friends.” Her recklessness. Her response at his departure.

She doubted this relationship was as “over” as Jack had earlier pronounced it. Nevertheless, if he was going to fall in love with someone who wouldn't give up her old friends, Jack needed to have an old friend that wouldn't give up on him. 

Jack Robinson, the man and her friend, wasn’t someone she defined as an officer of the law. Over the next several months, she came to see him that way. Their conversations (often held in discrete locations) revolved around his cases – and his company on many of these cases. 

“Does Archie have a brother? I might be free tomorrow night…”

“Interrupted, again?”

“You were in a mansion overnight in the middle of nowhere with doors that lock and you _didn’t_ join her? Why not?”

“She undressed you when you were out cold?” Bettie looks under the covers. “Smart woman.”

“Captain Compton and Mata Hari…you’re upset about this. _Tell_ me you see the irony.”

The last time they were together, was the evening Concetta made Jack a serious offer. Poor woman never had a chance. “Jack, if you feel need to let Concetta down gently, do you think it might be time that we took a small break as well? I mean, a woman can only be called another woman’s name so many times…”

“I never!” Jack genuinely looked shocked.

She laughed. “No, you never.” He looked relieved. “But we should, right?”

Jack agreed.

One of the unexpected side effects of their set of trysts is that she has attracted a fair few men as well. She wants to see if any of them will lead anywhere. Like him, she won't be giving them a fair shot if they continue with their discrete appointments together. “If it doesn’t workout with her…I’m here for you always, you know that.” Bettie was serious about this. “I hope this goes well for you. I want you to be enormously happy, Jack.” 

“Enormously?”

“Enormously." She eyed him coquettishly. "Seems like an appropriate word to send you off with.”

“Come here, you…” 

 

**6th September, 8:30 pm**

“Well, this is a surprise!” Jack Robinson was at Mrs. Bettie Stadler’s house. His visit was unplanned. She could hardly turn him away. Not that she would ever (she would never.)

“Come in. I’ll put on the kettle.”

He sat at the table silent, following her movements with his eyes. She suspected his visit had something to do with a discussion they had earlier. As usual, it appears as if she will need to extort his information even as he is bursting at the seams and wants to share. 

“You are looking sprightly this evening.” Especially considering his face after their office ambush earlier today. “Is there something that you’d like to tell me?”

He reaches into his left coat pocket and hands her a folded yellow slip of paper. She unfolds along the vertical, then along the horizontal. It reads:

TO: JACK ROBINSON  
YES.  
HURRY

Bettie looks at her watch and at the time stamp on the telegram. “5 hours. Not bad.” From what she knows of current telegram services, it would take an hour or so to travel one way. She notices that the return telegram was sent to the police station directly. Not the Western Union office the outgoing message was sent from.

Bettie puts a cup of tea on the table in front of her guest. His mischievous, greedy eyes let her know that has more to tell her. “What?!? Tell me!”

From his inside suit jacket pocket, he pulls out a steamer ticket.

“Oh?” She queries with excitement. “Gimme.”

Bettie sits down with her own cup of tea and looks at the ticket. “You leave Friday.”

She assesses her friend. “THIS Friday?” 

Now, this is news. He will be gone for months. He needs to consider his job, his house, all those things that need to get taking care of in pact of living in modern society. He’s thought of this. He has a plan. Probably. Hm. Does he? Old Jack would have a plan. The one in front of her makes her wonder.

Jack watches her process the information he has given her. Bettie looks at the telegram then at Jack. Then she looks at the ticket. Then the telegram. Then at Jack. 

“Jack.”

“Yes, Bettie.” He looks very proud of himself.

She rotated her body so her lap pointed toward him. “You received this telegram over an hour after the ticketing office closed.” She rested her elbow on the table, crossed her legs and tilted her head. She was smiling, too. “Bloody hell, Jack.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.” Bettie knew he didn’t. 

“How are you going to do this, then? Are you going to show up, disappear in a hotel room for weeks at a time and then fly back? What’s your plan?”

“I’ll be traveling for 5 weeks, maybe 6, just to get there. I just want to see her. I haven’t thought about what happens after.”

“Your job?”

“I have put in for time off. They won’t like it.”

“If they say no?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know that either. He has been paid for 2 types of work: solder and inspector. If they didn’t approve, he wasn’t going to have many options available. 

“I’m going.” 

He remained decisive. That said, the real possibility of being without a job nagged at him. The employment situation in the country was currently strong. The station needed his help. He did work he was proud of. Didn’t take time off. Produced results. None of this was a guarantee he’d have his job upon his return.

“Your house?”

“Will be fine.” 

“Money, Jack?” He grimaced.

He knew to the penny how much he had available. How much he could get to from a family inheritance. How much his pension was worth. Phryne has expensive taste. She buys for herself what she wants. She doesn’t need anything like that from him. But he wants the joy in surprising her. It can’t be all on the cheap. 

He is planning on using his savings and figuring out how to build it back up later.

“You are not going to blow through your pension for this. I don’t care how much you love her.” She didn’t want to dampen his mood but she didn’t want to see him in ruins, either. “If she loved you, she wouldn’t let you do that either. You need a better plan, Jack.”

If Bettie offered him money now, he’d turn it down and that would be the end of it. “You could rent your house. It wouldn’t bring in as much as your salary but it will help.”

“Good idea. But before Friday?” Jack was starting to feel a bit sick. He hadn’t thought this through. This is exactly the reason he wasn’t spontaneous. It is too easy to lose everything.

“I think we can come up with something. I can help find a lodger. Apparently, I am quite a good judge of character.” She winked. “That neighbor of yours – Mrs. Hattleman? – she seems to want to take you under her wing. Maybe she can help keep an eye on the place once it is rented.”

“Bettie, you’d do that?”

“Don’t be daft. In a second, you know that. Besides, you’ve got more planning to do and you won’t be able to do it all on the boat.”

“I’ve not been to London. I don’t know…” he looked nervous. This man. Honestly. The emotions flit over his face faster than she can catch them.

“I do believe you have managed to scare the pants off of yourself. Which, I’m certain will be well appreciated in the near future.” 

“Funny.”

“In all seriousness, Jack. Whatever you need and however you decide to do this, I can help. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you won’t settle.” 

They made plans to meet the next day to start working through the logistics on his house and other plans. Bettie made a phone call after his departure. 

_“Dr. Elizabeth Macmillan, please.”_

She waited for the connection.

 _“Guess who already has his ticket to London?”_  
_“Yes, it is surprising. Guess when he’s leaving?”_  
_“No, not in 3 weeks. This coming Friday.”_  
_“Uh huh.”_  
_“Nope.”_  
_“No clue.”_  
_“What do you think he should do?”_  
_“Right, makes sense.”_  
_“Here’s how I think that part should go…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In looking out from the promontory (high land surrounded by water...a look-out spot), what is seen?
> 
> How might have Michael's death (and Bettie's response to it) influenced Jack during Blood at the Wheel?
> 
> Are observers always isolated - in spirit, if not physically? Within the MFMM world, I see these people as Jack, Mac and Mr. Butler - how does this influence their movement amongst the others?
> 
> In the WW poem, it feels to me that this might be the first time the spider registers its aloneness and a seed is planted for the possibility of change.


	3. Mark’d How to Explore the Vacant Vast Surrounding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory on Mac. Some backstory on Bert. The group convenes at Wardlow to start a plan.

**Casino de Paris, 1918**

"There are only 2 kinds of people that avoid looking at those photos."

Mac had been searching for safe places to rest her eyes all evening. The Casino de Paris was swarming with attractive men and women. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the scene, it was that response for her appreciation was so often punitive. She made an effort to look at men, as if she were seriously considering which she might take as a lover that evening. That effort was rarely worth it - it bought her some time to fit in. She hadn't been able to manage the type of appreciation that women (the kind who take male lovers home) find attractive in each other. She had not been able to master their kind of admiring glances for each other, their fashions, their hair, their beauty, their attitude. Yes, she did see and appreciate all of these things but she had been unable to park the yearning that came with hers. Rather than allow herself to act naturally (or what could have been natural in another era), she chose to distance herself. It was far more practical to have people think you were asexual than a deviant - even in post war France. Even in a dance hall. 

No one had made a fuss. The assumption tended to be around her shyness, her virginity (!), her preference for intellectual pursuits. It was safer to foster an illusion of truth around these assumptions than to share how her real experiences had gone: lovely in the moment, dangerous when caught. So far, she had always been caught - by brothers, one mother, a school teacher and one particularly violent husband. The external wounds inflicted were fairly easy to tend to for a fledgling doctor. It was easier to disregard the internal ones, even to close friends. She reasoned that everyone had their secrets, everyone had unique ways of dealing with it. In low moments, though, she was lonely and resented this inability to connect - even with her most free-thinking and liberal acquaintances.

She studied the woman who was soon to call her out. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old, a strong beauty, and enough presence to make up for her own invisibility. Her skin satin, not silk. Dark brown hair ending at her neck in thick waves. Her prominent straight nose anchored the rest of her otherwise petite, sunny gallic face. 

The photos of mention decorate the outside of the dancer's dressing room mirror. They are of her in various states of undress, except for one that shows her sitting with girls of similar age in the countryside. The photo she chooses to look at next is one of the least revealing: Helene (Helle to friends) draped in a single swath of shiny fabric covering one breast (exposing the other) and her privates. Her legs are demurely pressed together with one knee pressed forward. One hand is holding the fabric in place but suggesting a downward movement, as if she might be thinking of pleasuring herself. The other raised above her head in the classic model pose that suggests "I've just seen ecstasy." Her head is rotated to her right, her face bathed in soft light, her eyes closed, relaxed. She had already adopted the practice of shaving her armpits, a new trend brought about by a wholehearted rejection of remaining covered from wrist to ankle.

"What 2 kinds of people would those be?" Mac's measured timbre was already well established by the end of the war.

"Well, there are those that have a fear of God. They don't look at anything. Then, there are those that perhaps God should have a little fear of."

The wrist to ankle cover still adopted by Mac felt insufficient.

"I have seen you here before. You think no one notices. I do. I notice. So, I think I know which one you are." 

Helene stands up and walks towards her so that no one else can hear. The dancer is several inches shorter, making the doctor feel like Goliath. Helle glances to the side to ensure their privacy is in tact before brushing her fingers along the side of Mac's hand. "You look to me like a person who isn't afraid of anything." In that moment, nothing was less true. Mac was frozen before this little Medusa, who stepped even closer and whispered in her ear: "But looks can be very deceptive, no?"

"I can't..."

Mac's hand was lifted away from her body, which had no choice but to follow. "Come. I'll show you..."

 

**Essonne, 1918**

Bert Johnson was hid under the bed of one Sonia Wrangel, daughter to exiled Cossack military commander Eyvgeney Pytor Wrangel. She had draped one blanket over the side of the bed and tightly pressed her trunk against the foot. Bed springs pressed against his face hard enough to mark him, though he lay himself as flat as possible along the floor. The commander's boots were less than a meter away from his face. The discussion, held in Russian, sounded friendly enough: A father wishing his daughter good night, happy dreams and desires for a resurrected Russian Empire.

There was a meeting that night at the commander's house to discuss post-exile plans with fellow white emigres. Sonia promised to translate. He hoped they could refrain from distraction long enough for him to get the information he needed. Not that he knew what this information was, why it might be important or how it could be used. These people were the new enemy. Not Sonia, though. She is a Leninist and secret devotee of the cause. And beautiful. She held his heart and his mind. She was the one who told him about communism, Leninism more specifically. She taught him about returning a country's natural resources to the people of that country, to those who have been starving for so long. About self-determination - making the best of one's own opportunities - and being part of a more loving community. About the decriminalization of divorce, abortion and homosexuality...and the willingness to remove the social stigma from those who have had to endure those difficult lessons as well as the resulting isolation. For him, all of these things brought the promise of a life worth living. And a woman worth living it with.

The commander turned out the light as he left the room. Bert and Sonia stayed put until visitors arrived at the house. The additional noise from the other room gave them the opportunity to rearrange themselves to hear the neighboring discussion. They lay side by side on her bed, her whispering translations in his ear. Their hands wandered on their own accord, whispering as softly as their voices. By the end of the evening, he was uncertain as to any tactical knowledge gained. The knowledge of Sonia had become more important.

They remained face to face, her leg over his - fully dressed, save the removal of underthings from one of her legs and breeches lowered on him. Their motions completely silent. Their lips as often tucked between teeth to avoid making any sound as on each other. They shared as many pauses as motion to prevent squeaky bed springs and loud breathing from giving them away. Quiet declarations of love and possibilities were made until the house was silent and black. He wanted to stay so badly. He wanted to wake up with her every morning. For now, they would meet again tomorrow at the communist club.

He inched to the bottom of the bed, reassembled his clothing, walked to her pillow and wished her farewell (for now). They had done a thorough job on planning how to get him into her room but nothing about how he would sneak out. He took a moment to mentally trace his route to the front door. Trenches, for all of their grubbiness, were far less complex than maneuvering around furniture and an exiled commandant father. He'd been lucky so far.

Bert made careful and light steps heel-to-toe down the hallway and down the stairs. He was cursing himself for not paying attention to which stairs needed repair. Each time the splinters shouted out, he froze in an effort to make them shut up. From the bottom of the stairwell, it was 10 strides to the front door. They key was in the lock. Hopefully, she'll come down before her parents do in order to re-engage the lock. Again, he chastised himself for lack of planning. He turned the lock but heard a louder, heavier click against his ear. In that instant, he sensed the sharp smell of his lover on him and knew that he was not alone in doing so.

"You will never see her again. Do you understand?"

 

**7 September, 1929. 8pm at Wardlow**

Mac looked around the table. Dot and Alice dipped their heads together to share new bride stories of the most innocent kind. Mr. Butler and Hugh were similarly speaking of their respective wives, both glowing even though one spoke only in memory. Bert was trying to rile up Cec about something; Mac thought that even Bert didn't know what he was trying to achieve. Jack was at the head of the table, regaled by Jane's mischievous and pubescent insights on the nature of the world around her. And of Kip.

Phryne should be here. 

Mr. Butler drew forth Jack's tentative plan in confidence before the rest of them arrived. Jack created a rather elaborate plan for a kind of scavenger hunt around London that would remind Phryne of their time together in Melbourne. To her, it sounded crazed but Mr. Butler approved. In true Mr. B styling, there is more to the plan than what was shared with her. 

In the meantime, Mac and Bettie mapped out a plan that she had already shared with the rest of the table (minus one) on how the funding of this trip was going to go. They were going to trade in favors. As many as possible. Where that wasn't possible, they would claim a favor and payment would be done in secret. Some of Jack's cash would have to be exchanged, that couldn't be avoided - nor would it be believable. 

The needs - all needed quickly - are in 3 categories: getting him there, bringing her things and making things happen. To get him there - he needed a ticket (done), time off work (submitted, not yet approved) and a place to stay. To bring her things - a dress, some items from prior cases, some items from her home, and her new diaphragm (which Jack doesn't yet know about).

Aside from finding a dress, the largest effort will be in finding people and places to emulate the cases from here. Between them, they needed access to a Turkish Bath House, a train, a theatre showing operetta, a french restaurant, a rally car race (did he have to relive this one?), a tennis match, an observatory. After dinner, they reconvened in the parlor with maps to start figuring out who might be able to do what:

A place to stay: Needs no planning until the map is put together.

The dress. Dot will call on House de Fleuri to make an appointment. Jane wants to join. Bert will drive.

Turkish Bath House. Mr. Butler will contact Mrs. Stanley's help to find out if Mme Breda might have some connections in London.

Train. Needs no planning until the map is put together.

Theatre showing operetta (preferably Gilbert and Sullivan...even more preferably Ruddigore). Guy Stanley should know. So should the Baroness. Jack will visit Mrs. Prudence Stanley first thing tomorrow.

French restaurant. Mr. Butler will reach out to his AIF contacts. He will also reach out to Guy Stanley's help once Jack gets his contact information.

Rally car race. Mac will try to reach Helle. It has been almost 10 years since they saw each other but have remained in contact.

Tennis match. Jack is going to see if Angela Lombard is still in town (must you, Jack?)

Observatory: Mr. Butler believes he has some contacts through the AIF.

Mac can't help notice Jack looking a little pale by the end of the evening. Overwhelmed, perhaps? Mr. B. is a much better ear but she gives it a shot anyhow. "A word, Jack?" He follows her back to the kitchen table with his drink. She wipes the side of her mouth and examines him. "Interesting group of people we have here."

He nods.

Hugh and Dot - recently married (is it 2 days now?) overcoming familial and religious barriers. To say they have overcome boundaries is premature; the ceremony with their families is still over a week away. His mother still quite upset at his conversion. Just wait until children need baptizing.

Cec and Alice - brought together by the unfortunate effects of Dr. George Fletcher, now rotting in gaol, and of Mac's willingness to allow Cec to stay in hospital with her.

Mr. Butler - still in love with his departed wife, Aurelia and mascot to the group for making the most out of limited time together. 

Jane - deep into her first infatuation, probably not her last.

"What's your story?" She tells him about the men she tried to be with, the women she wished she hadn't. The times she was beaten up for being in love, and the times she hadn't. How she learned about discretion and secrets. She told him about Halle and how she was hopeful after that. About Phryne - how they met, how their friendship developed. About casual lovers and more recently, about Daisy. She shared what she saw as options available to her and what her romantic life could hold, considering the depraved and illegal public views about her lifestyle. As if she had a choice. As if love asked for your opinion. As if resisting it couldn't break you.

She wouldn't get the chance that he has. He doesn't reach out to her, nor would she accept it. But he does understand and she knows it.

"Why does she need to have other lovers, Mac?"

She looked at him as if he lost his marbles. "She doesn't have other lovers, Jack."

"You know what I mean."

"Why do you want her to be anything other than or who she is?"

"I just want to understand."

"Then, you should ask her that question in person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark'd how to explore - the decision has been taken to make a journey and to leave the safety of the look-out spot.
> 
> For what? What could be gained by leaving a safe haven?
> 
> Why is exploration important?
> 
> What happens if the journey fails - what if there is no connection to be made, no understanding of the soul that comes forth? What then?
> 
> In the WW poem, the emphasis is on making the surrounding world larger and more lonely: "vacant, vast surrounding". The emphasis, a way of making an uncomfortable feeling acute and, therefore, increasing the possibility of change.


	4. It Launch’d Forth Filament, Filament, Filament, Out of Itself

**One Filament Carries the Future of the Detective Inspectorship for Jack Robinson**

Sunday, City South Station -

 _"No, sir."_  
_"I understand, sir."_  
_"Yes, I do understand the predicament, sir."_  
_"I am afraid that this is an emergency."_  
_"I believe I will, sir."_  
_"I am very sorry to hear this, sir."_  
_"Yes, I will make arrangements, sir."_

 

Sunday, A Walk Along St. Kilda -

"Dottie, the commissioner won't be budged."  
"So, he's out of a job, then?"  
"It does look at that way. Unless he stays."  
"After all he's done. This simply won't do."

 

Sunday, Wardlow -

"Jane, let's go see Aunt Prudence. I'm not sure whether she'll listen..."  
"Do you think we can Bert to drive us, Dot?"  
"I'm certain he can."

 

Sunday, Rippon Lea -

"Well, Aunt Prudence, it is just that...well, I think she might stay there if we don't help him."  
"What do you mean, dear girl?"  
"This business with her father all seems quite complicated. Didn't your sister say the same thing? And, you know how Miss Fisher likes to help. That's why she is on a plane."  
"Yes, it would have been better if Henry finally gave up and let Margaret just get on with her life. She is so reasonable in all other ways."  
"I think that Miss Fisher is going to get pulled in and feel compelled to stay unless we can help her see that she needs to come back here."  
"Is that why the Inspector is going over there?"  
"No, the Inspector is going to be with her. But if he doesn't have a job to come back to, it will be easier for them to stay in England."  
"But she just came back! Her household is here! Ooh, that Henry. Ruining everything, again!"  
"That's why you need to speak with the commissioner, Aunt Prudence. She'll come back if he does."  
"Do you really think so, child?"  
"I know it."

 

Monday, Rippon Lea -

_"Mrs. Leticia Hall, please."_  
_"Yes, I will hold."_  
_"Hello, Mrs. Hall. I wanted to let you know that we have had some discussions within the hospital committee about your recent application."_  
_"That is what I wanted to speak with you about."_  
_"We are inclined to make for your welcome but there are one or two details that I would like to personally work out with you before making my formal recommendation."_  
_"Perhaps, you would come over for tea?"_  
_"Might you be available tomorrow?"_  
_"Urgent? I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Hall."_  
_"It is a convenient time for me, that's all. Besides, my cook has just perfected raspberry syllabub. It is quite delicious."_  
_"I shall send round an invitation with all of the details."_

 

Tuesday, Rippon Lea -  


"Certainly, there have been a number of gun shot wounds that have required treatment recently. Despicable invention, the gun. These need to be eradicated at all costs. We aren't in the wild west, you know."  
"No, certainly not..."  
"The commissioner certainly must have his challenges."  
"Indeed, he does..."  
"How is he settling in after the recent appointment?"  
"Just..."  
"He must see the advantage in having honest men on the force as a result of the reasons behind the appointment."  
"I uh..."  
"I understand he is about to lose a very fine man on the force."  
"He wouldn't..."  
"The one who effectively landed him his position."  
"Are you speaking of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson?"  
"Of course, I am dear. He is undertaking an urgent trip to England. He is practically doing this for me personally."  
"I understood there was a certain lady involved."  
"She is my niece. He is to collect her from an untoward situation and escort her home."  
"So, this isn't a frivolous journey? I heard it was an affair."  
"Inspector Robinson has proven himself to be an honorable man and one that your husband should be quite grateful to. If this was not a dire situation, I would not be discussing this so openly. As I said, it is an emergency and one that he is required for."  
"I see..."  
"He leaves this Friday, you understand."  
"Friday?"  
"Though, I'm not quite sure how you can help. Between us, he is already on track to be Commissioner himself in a few years. He has certainly proven himself to the right people. No offense to your husband, of course. I'm sure he is quite suitable."  
"Oh. Yes. Certainly. You know I don't get involved in my husband's work affairs."  
"No. Quite right. At any rate, I trust that before the Inspector leaves the country, he will have assurance of returning to his job whatever his return date."  
"Of course. If I hear anything at all...  
"That would be most welcome, my dear. Now. This raspberry syllabub is quite good, isn't it?"  
"Yes, it is simply marvelous."

 

Thursday, City South Station -  


_"I am quite surprised to hear this news, sir."_  
_"May I ask what changed your mind?"_  
_"No, I am glad to hear that you have reconsidered."_  
_"Thank you, sir."_

 

**A Second Filament Carrying Old Friends to New Lovers**

TO: HELENE NICE

SENDING CONGRATULATIONS OF RECENT GRAND PRIX WINS. 100MPH IN YOUR OMEGA SIX. YOU HAVE BEEN ALWAYS FAST AND IMPRESSIVE. BEEN FAR TOO LONG. JOIN ME IN WILD GOOSE CHASE? NEED MOTORING CONNECTION IN LONDON.

MAC

 

TO: ELIZABETH MACMILLAN

MON CHERIE. FAR TOO LONG IS RIGHT. CRYSTAL PALACE OLDEST TRACK IN LONDON. GOOSE CHASE IS ALMOST AS GOOD AS GETTING THE GOOSE. WILL YOUR TAIL FEATHERS BE AT FINISH LINE?

HELLE

 

TO: HELENE NICE

ALAS, KEEPING PEOPLE FROM DYING HERE. YOU HAVE PHILIP ROTHCHILD DYING FOR OVER YOU THERE. TAIL FEATHERS FIRMLY TUCKED IN MELBOURNE. WILL LIVE VICARIOUSLY FOR NOW. WILL YOU STILL HELP? PHRYNE COMING TO LONDON. I SEEK DRIVER AT CRYSTAL PALACE TO TAKE HER FOR A SPIN. MORE DETAILS TO FOLLOW.

MAC

 

TO: ELIZABETH MACMILLAN

I WILL TEND TO HER PERSONALLY IF WITHIN NEXT TWO MONTHS. INTRIGUED AND MUST KNOW MORE. NEW TOPIC: VIOLETTE MORRIS COULD USE LETTER FROM DEAR FRIEND. HAVE YOU HEARD? 

HELLE

 

TO: HELENE NICE

LETTER WITH RIDICULOUS STORY NOW POSTED TO YOU. PUTTING YOU IN CONTACT WITH JACK ROBINSON, PHRYNE'S PARAMOUR. THIS ONE MIGHT STICK. ANY CHANCE YOU HAVE CONNECTIONS AT SAVOY, LONDON OBSERVATORY, BATH HOUSES OR GOOD FRENCH RESTAURANTS IN LONDON? ENCOUNTERED SIMILAR SCENARIOS AS VIOLETTE BUT NONE KEEPING ME FROM OLYMPICS. SHAME. WILL WRITE HER AT ONCE.

MAC

 

**A Third Filament Carrying Extensions of Sartorial Elegance**

"Bert...give that back."  
"What? I thought we were looking to find ways to a woman's heart."  
"Just stop touching it. I thought I told you to wait outside."

"Good, Madam Fleuri. Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher's ward Jane will be coming by this afternoon to look for a dress. Do you have anything already started? You see, he is leaving for England this Friday."  
"We have 3 in progress but they are really quite out of an inspector's salary range."  
"Yes, about that..."

"Madame Fleuri, thank you for seeing me on short notice."  
"Not at all Inspector. And, hello Miss Ross. Please come this way."  
"Inspector, Dot said that she liked this blue one."  
"I like this one."  
"Oh, yes! So do I."  
"Can this be ready for Thursday?"

"No, Inspector. I must insist. Mrs. Collins helped us get back to business when we were certain we had to close our doors."  
"Surely, I cannot accept a favor that is meant for Mrs. Collins."  
"I assure you, Inspector that if the favor was not directed to Mrs. Collins, it would be directed to Miss Fisher herself."  
"However, Miss Fisher does not know about this. It is my gift to her."  
"Then this is our gift to you. Your money is no good here, I'm afraid."  
"There must be something you will accept."  
"Perhaps, you'd like to consider something from our new lingerie line..."

 

**Launching Forth From a Yacht Carrying an Octopus**

A bright red pair of lips formed into a satisfied smile at his appearance. "Ain't this a nice surprise." Angela Lawson has x-ray vision and this man has some good bones. "Is this a professional visit, Inspector?"

"Uh, no. Actually, this is a personal visit." Jack Robinson stands with his hat in his hands.

"Well, well, well." the tennis champion picks up her bottle of champagne, reaches behind her for another glass and fills it - all without removing her eyes from the man in front of her.

"Mrs. Lombard." He stands properly while accepting the glass. "I wonder if I might ask a favor."

"Anything. Jack." That overcoat is just screaming to come off. "Need to make someone jealous or do you just have a little extra energy to burn?"

He clears his throat. "Nothing quite like that. I wonder if you would be willing to make an introduction for me at Wimbledon."

"Now this is surprising. A chance in career, Inspector?"

"Not exactly. Can you keep a secret, Mrs. Lombard?"

"That depends...would you mind scratching this itch I have...right...here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of two chapters to deviate from a 3-part structure. This one has four...the fourth is about Angela. She acts like an irritation or a nubbin - requiring something that was "complete" and makes it to be "too much". However, her contribution is essential - both in character and in the connection she allows. 
> 
> Also, the spider, which has been quiet in its movement so far is now quite active...ceaseless, in fact. Given that the Fisher Posse is equally as active as Jack in journey preparations, who again is the spider? And is it a single person?
> 
> And if all of the moments are happening to connect Jack with Phryne...what about all of the other connections being made? Surely, those can't be ignored.


	5. Ever Unreeling Them - Ever Tirelessly Speeding Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Pru is on the case.

**9th of September, 1929 at Rippon Lea. 7pm**

"Ma'am. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson is here to see you."

"Thank you, Butler. Please show him in"

Jack Robinson enters her parlor. It is the first time he has come to visit her without her niece arriving, shortly before or shortly after him. That makes his presence here feel quite wrong. The loneliness she feels is improper. It isn't his fault, of course. Phryne has a mind of her own. She made up her mind to fly Henry back to Margaret. But, Phryne didn't come see her. Prudence's only family in Australia didn't come talk to her before she left. Didn't come to explain. She is aware that she is wearing a damning look on her face. Well, why not? She is Prudence Stanley. She has earned that right.

Jack clears his throat. "Good evening, Mrs. Stanley."

"What can I do for you, Inspector?"

"I was hoping that I might speak to you about Miss Fisher." He raises his eyes to meet hers. "About Phryne."

Prudence feels a rock in her heart. So, it was true then. This police officer is in love with her Phryne. She had caught them so many times and tried to communicate subtly how improper it would be to be involved with a city employee - and a divorced one at that. There are so many eligible bachelors. She should have known Phryne would have none of them. She wonders if the feelings the Inspector has are mutual.

"Mrs. Stanley. I am here because, whether Phryne shares this with you or not, she loves you quite dearly. And, because you are family. I happen to know that she feels much closer to you than her own father."

This was a surprise. Not that Phryne would feel this way. Of course, she's better family than that rogue Henry. It was a surprise that the Inspector would make such a proclamation.

Jack continues. "Because she is so important to you, your opinion is important to me." He stops to let that settle. Prudence Stanley isn't a woman who would think Jack Robinson's opinion of her mattered. But he knows better. He has seen her with Mary, with Bert, with Arthur. He has seen her response to the miners trapped and killed over a decade ago. The woman in front of him cares deeply about a great number of things. These days, Phryne tops that list.

"I hope that I am not being too personal, Mrs. Stanley. Or, too presumptuous. I understand you were very lucky in your marriage to Mr. Stanley." She was. She adored Edward. "It is a rare thing to find happiness like that - whether it lasts or whether it is fleeting."

"Yes. I was very lucky, indeed." He is being presumptuous and this conversation is making her rather uncomfortable. She will give this man just five more minutes. For Phryne's sake. After that, this conversation ends.

"Before Phryne left, she admitted her feelings for me. This made me very happy." He flashed her a rare grin. "I am aware that I may not be what you hoped for your niece. However, because you mean so much to her, I wanted to come speak with you about her before I departed for England."

Prudence Stanley's eyes flew open and she almost lost her grip on her teacup. "You are following her to England! Whatever for?"

Jack paused. This was going as expected, which is to say that it wasn't going well.

"She asked me to."

"She never!" If he could take a photo of her aunt's face right now, he would do it. He feels Phryne's mirth from afar. Prudence Stanley is horrified. Jack doesn't know whether it is about Phryne's behavior or her choice of companion. 

"Mrs. Stanley. I love her. I'm in love with her. She says she feels the same about me. I don't think this happens very often, do you?"

He stops a moment.

Prudence Stanley is scrutinizing the young man in front of her. She thinks about what she knows of him, aside from being an employee of the city and a divorcee, of course.

"I came here in hopes that you will make an introduction of me to your sister. And, I would also like to get your son Guy's contact information to help me with making plans for London." 

Prudence finds herself softening. The man in front of her is forthright. He appears to be honest and trustworthy. Phryne is crazy about him. He appears to be all the things that Henry is not. Two things bother her.

"Why did you get divorced, Inspector? Did you not promise your wife your fidelity 'til death do you part?"

"I did and I meant it. If it were my choice, I would still be married today." She thought he looked sad. "I was a different man after the war, Mrs. Stanley. I wasn't fair to my wife. I wasn't available. She didn't know how to handle that any more than I did. My marriage was over before I met your niece, Mrs. Stanley. I would have never..." He let the thought go unfinished.

"And your job, Inspector. If you are to go jaunting off to another country, do you expect to be supported?" He looked horrified. She saw no need in telling him that she already knew that he had effectively resigned from his current position. Nor did she see fit to advise him of her appointment with the Commissioner's wife tomorrow.

"I would never, expect to be ... I'm not..." He was blinking wildly. "Mrs. Stanley, I am not a man that would be satisfied with being financially supported. I have always earned a wage and I will continue to do so. I will not lie to you. My current position is at risk. However, I have several connections both here and abroad that I will pursue. I will never have the income that will keep Miss Fisher at her current standard of living, which I wish I could for her...and for you...but I will never be a drain on her resources."

"Well, I know that Phryne is quite taken with you, Inspector." He looked embarrassed at her saying so. 

"My butler will give you Guy's information in London on your way out." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Stanley" He recognized the dismissal when it came. "We are having a dinner together on Thursday night. I'm not sure if you have other plans but perhaps you would join us?"

"Me?" 

Jack smiled at her. "Mr. Butler will telephone with the details. Also, if there is anything that you'd like me to bring to Phryne from you, please bring it. I realize she didn't have much time to give her farewells."

"Oh, yes. Well, perhaps I will see you there. Good night, Inspector."

 

**10th of September, 1929 at Rippon Lea. Noon.**

Prudence fingers the brooch in her palm. It is a crescent moon made of rose gold and filled with pearls. Edward had given her an engagement ring that was shown off at the engagement party. This was his personal present given to her on the eve of their engagement. Both families had made such a fuss about the suitability of the match. He was so handsome and kind. And funny! She was very pretty back then. That wasn't all she was, though. She had opinions about the world and how it needed to change. She had no desire to back down from those opinions, or anything else for that matter. She gave him hell and he loved her for it. He listened to her. That night, in front of family, friends and over a hundred well meaning acquaintances, they were officially betrothed. Later that night, under the stars he gave her this. "As a small token of my love," Edward said her as he pinned this to her dress. "I give you the moon. Make sure to tell it what to do when I'm not here."

She misses him every day. He was with her a decade ago. In this very room. She is so glad he didn't have to see Arthur die. Or Guy's histrionics. Edward would approve of Phryne's young man. She knows it.

Prudence sits at her writing desk to write a letter to her niece.

_"Dear Phryne,_

_Did I ever tell you about the time your Uncle Edward gave me the moon?..."_

She went on to share the her memories of her wedding day. Of her arguments with her Mother in Law. Of Guy as a young child. Of Arthur...and how she learned so much about love from Edward in the way that he embraced his child that would stay a child for forever.

She ended the letter.

_"If you can adore your Inspector as I did Edward and if he can adore you as Edward did me, then you have my approval. I only want your health and your happiness._

_You are missed, dear girl. Hurry home._

_Love,_

_Your Aunt Prudence."_

She gets up from her writing desk and notices the time. Where did the afternoon go? She bustles off to prepare herself for her meeting with Mrs. Hall.

 

**12th of September, 1929 at P &O Ticketing Office. Noon.**

"No, I want to speak with someone in charge." Prudence Stanley is making a fuss with the ticketing agent. "Do you not understand who I am?"

The manager comes over, prostrate. "Yes, Mrs. Stanley. I do know who you are. How may we help."

"There is a young man traveling with you tomorrow by the name of Jack Robinson."

"We cannot share the names of our passengers, even to you Mrs. Stanley."

"I'm not asking you who your passenger is, dear boy. I'm telling you." The man is a full foot taller than her and yet she looks down at him quite easily. "I would like to replace his ticket with a first class ticket, all amenities paid."

"We do not take exchanges, ma'am. Our policy..."

"Who asked you for an exchange? I want him to have a first class ticket." She is starting to lose her temper. "Young man, your passenger is traveling to England to bring my niece home. This may not mean much to you now but this may very well be important to you in the near future." She can't think of why. This is beside the point.

"So, you want to give him a new ticket."

"Young man. When Jack Robinson embarks on your ship tomorrow, I want him to be greeted as he comes on board. I want someone to take his luggage to a first class cabin. He is to have all amenities paid for - including telegraphs to London and to Australia. Is there anything at all about this that is unclear?"

"No, ma'am. I'll just take care of this now." The manager fusses about for the next forty-five minutes to get the details arranged. In the meantime, she has been whisked into the interior offices to be served some horrific tea and biscuits. They are so dry, she stopped after four.

The manager comes back to her again, looking flushed but pleased with himself. Here you are, Mrs. Stanley. These new tickets should take care of everything you asked for.

She holds her hand out to receive them. On her way out the door she stopped and turned around. "I expect he will be issued cash in full for the ticket that is no longer to be used. Just have it ready in his suite. Will you?" She simply had no time for the manager that was now breathing in and out of his mouth. Who teaches manners at public schools these days?

She walks to the street where Bert and Cec are waiting for her. "Didja get 'er all sorted Mrs. P?"

Prudence Stanley tips the envelope with the new tickets against her nose and gives him a satisfied smile.

"You are one classy lady, Mrs. P."

Yes. Yes, she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like last chapter, this is all about connections and energy spent reaching in good faith to make them happen.
> 
> Jack asks Aunt Pru for her blessing...will he ask the same of her father? She is his biggest critic, outside of Bert...however, she has more influence (and anti-influence for the rebellious side) on Phryne.
> 
> What made her respond in this way?


	6. And You, O My Soul, Where You Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's last night before embarking on his journey.

**10 September, 1929**

Jack watches the light turn from gray to pink over the top of the pillow she slept on. He holds this pillow in both arms, an impossibly compliant lover. The white cotton he holds his lips to, he imagines as the top of her head. The sheet is her arm draping round him.

It's Tuesday morning. 

Three mornings from now, he embarks. She has been gone 96 hours. How is he going to manage another 6 weeks? It is probably more like 45 days. Maybe it is easier to count down the hours. There are 1080 of them. He doesn't have it in him to contemplate minutes. Nor can he bear to take into account how rough weather might change those figures. 

He presses the pillow into his face and closes his eyes. He imagines her perfume. He never kissed her in this bed. He thinks fondly of the times he did... against the door, up and down the stairs, in the shower. Yes, to all of those places but never in his bed. His body remembers otherwise. He dreams of her leaning over him and bringing her lips to his. He opened himself to her then. His dreams insist over and over again that this happened. He wishes it did.

Today, he will fix the staircase. He doesn't want to. It is one of two pieces of evidence that proves he wasn't making all of this up. He reaches over to his worn copy of Antony and Cleopatra, pulls out her photo turns it over.

_"How could they not realize it needs to be measured in kisses? Heaven and earth are infinitely small in comparison. I meant every one._

_Madly, deeply in love with you._

_Your, Phryne"_

On Thursday, he will clean out his desk. Maybe, he should start tomorrow. He will also write a letter of introduction to Scotland Yard. What are the chances he could come back? His bones belong here. His feet know these streets. He can't explain it. This is his home. It feels like their home. If Europe was their home, wouldn't they have met there? This idea makes him fractious - how they met, where they met, why they met is all circumstance. He doesn't believe in fate.

His grip on the pillow tightens. 

Only once has he had cause to leave the country: a great war. He was gone for the duration and came back a different man. He hasn't even left yet and he feels different again. He is more impulsive in this moment than he was in school. What is happening to him? He isn't a romantic man; he's a realist. 

Or, he was. 

 

**11 September, 1929. 7pm**

"Hi Jack. Come help me with these, will you?" Bettie brought over Michael's traveling trunks; he brings them into his house. They are old but much better quality than anything he has. The tags have been replaced and engraved: J. Robinson. "Bettie, thank you." He points at the tags, smiling. She shrugs it off. She always does invisible things for those she loves - never mentioned, always noticed. 

She just helped her boys pack for school. Now, she helps Jack. "When is the last time you took a journey like this?"

"Never."

She startled before realizing this is true. Of course, he hadn't. He had traveled as part of his war service. He packed for the summers at his Uncle Ted's. In her head, she knows he doesn't have the same resources and experiences as her. She goes to the continent regularly. He fits into her life so well and he's so cultured, that she forgets. 

"I met a man named Julius Gresham today." He looked at her quizzically. "For the house. He's interested in leasing it."

"That was fast."

"Apparently, it is fairly difficult to find a house as well tended as yours. I've been trying to find someone with a thumb as green as yours. He spent some time in the back garden tending to some brown leaves. Apparently, the current owner has been too distracted of late...though, his garden is still lovely" She was teasing.

The things that hadn't even occurred to him. "Do you think he'll take it?"

"I have another reference or two to check but he's ready to pick up keys for Saturday. That's good news, isn't it?"

"Very. Thank you." It is phrase over used in the past several days. The gratitude he feels of late is difficult to contemplate.

"Let's get you packed up, shall we?" She starts going upstairs. He follows her. It is the first time since. Well, since. She stops half way up the stairs and looks back at him.

"Jack." Her eyebrows are furrowed. "I meant to ask earlier." She glances down at the spindles on his staircase. His face said everything. 

"I see. For the record, I feel cheated." She continued upstairs to help him empty his wardrobe.

 

**12 September, 1929.**

"How do I know that no one will read my message for Miss Fisher?"

"Well, Jane. There is a secret that I learned back in the war. If you seal up an envelope like this," Jack seals an empty envelope taken from the writing desk, "and you write on the outside, no one can put it back exactly right. Watch." He shows her how steam is used to open up an envelope. There is enough glue to put it back together. "If you use too much steam, the paper wrinkles...like this, see? But if you use just enough, you can reseal it. BUT if you write on it first then you unseal it, look at what happens. The ink warps like so" Jane looks intently at this process. "When the envelope with writing is resealed, it is nearly impossible to line it up correctly. This is a fool-proof method to determine if you message has been tampered with." Jane's eyes are wide and excited. Next time, the Inspector thinks, he'll show her about invisible ink.

In the meantime, Mac has wandered over. She arrives just in time for Jane to find a large white envelope and lumber up the stairs. She hands him a package wrapped in brown paper. "You'll want to give this to Phryne right away." He doesn't respond. "Keep it away from heat and do not let it get damaged." Does the man ever get baited? Oh. Of course he does. He leans over to her until his eyes are inches away from hers. "Very discrete, doctor. She'll get it even before she sees me." He tilts his head sideways, causing her to laugh. She likes this man. She really does.

Aunt Prudence arrives. For her sake, they eat in the formal dining area. Jack is disappointed that Mr. Butler doesn't join them. Nor will he accept help in serving as he did when the ate together informally earlier in the week. Mr. Butler's quiet omniscience is something to behold. They had several discussions over this week, mostly about plans for meals, travel plans, logistics...etiquette. Jack had no idea how well he was known in this household. He also had infinite respect for how little Mr. Butler would share with him about his mistress, aside from the fact they shared a favorite sandwich (cheese and ham with pickle).

Bert, Cec and Alice showed up after dinner to share some drinks. Mac was in charge of music. Bert and Jane shared the responsibility of getting people dancing in the parlor.

Hugh takes a moment to raise a glass to his newly reinstated boss. "This is the first I've heard of a man getting reinstated, accepting it and leaving the country the next day." The group murmurs in appreciation. "I believe that I can say what all of us have been thinking for a very long time. Uh. Don't take this the wrong way but...ahem... you took long enough, sir."

Jack grinned, embarrassed. Caught out by his own Constable.

"That said," Hugh Collins continued, "we wish you a happy and safe journey and a much happier arrival." The group whooped and toasted him. Even Mr. Butler joined in.

Prudence Stanley pulls Jack aside for a moment and hands him a delicately wrapped box. It is three inches by three inches at one inch high. It looks like jewelry. "Inspector," she presses the package into his hand along with a hand-written letter, "this is for Phryne from me. You must give it to her under the stars." She nods at him authoritatively. 

He feels honored. Does this mean she has accepted him, then? "Is there anything else I should know about it?"

"It is very precious to me, Inspector. So is Phryne. She may tell you more about this if she chooses." She starts to walk away when Mr. Butler brings round a tray of drinks. "Oh, don't mind if I do."

Oh dear, here come the red raggers. They have been quite silent about all of this. He is sandwiched between them. Cec beams and shakes his hand. "Good luck to you, Inspector. I hope you are both very happy." Jack looks over to Bert and raises his eyebrows. "You better treat her well. If I hear otherwise, I know where to come find you. Officer or not." Bert cracks a smile and shakes his hand. That will be the nicest thing Bert has ever said to him.

Jane comes over with a large, well padded, white envelope. It has drawings all over and a Jolly Roger drawn over the seam. Quick learner, he notes with pride. In all capital letters, it states "BEWARE. ONLY MISS FISHER ENTERS HERE." She has even sealed it with a kiss in light pink lipstick. "Inspector. You need to make sure that she gets this right away." She was serious about this. He leans over to her and holds up his pinky to make a swear. Jane grabs it. They shake and she gives him a hug. "Will you treat her well, Inspector?" They separate and he gives her a nod. His eyesight blurs. 

He farewells everyone, hoping they won't think it rude. He suspects they were waiting for him to go first. He collects packages from Mac, Prudence Stanley and Jane Ross. There is also a case that Dot helped him pack that has several changes in clothes from Phryne's closet and a duplicate set of toiletries to those she brought with her. Mr. Butler picks up this bag and walks him out to his car.

"I can't thank you enough for your help, Mr. Butler."

"Not at all, sir."

"You didn't have to help. No one did."

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, it isn't very difficult to notice when two people share something quite special." He paused for a moment before turning back inside. "I notice that you already have a fair amount of patience. So, instead, I wish you happiness, Inspector." Jack reaches out to shake his hand, humbled.

Finally, he drives to spend what he hopes will be the very last night in his own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In seeing Jack alone, with one friend and then surrounded by family, where is he at?
> 
> What does the growing relationship with her makeshift family have to do with his growing relationship with Phryne...and to himself?
> 
> Jack & Bert have many similarities but "noiseless" and "patient" are not two of them. Bert tends not to think enough before taking action and Jack thinks too much (at times) before taking action. What's their future?
> 
> Jack & Mr. Butler...Jack, while not Captain Compton style "manly" is a leader of men, which makes it rare for him to connect with his own mentors. So far, it has been Sanderson (who turned out to be a twonk). How is Mr. Butler (noiselessly, patiently) changing this?


	7. Surrounded, Detatched in Measureless Oceans of Space

**13 September, 1929**

Mac guffaws.  
Dot giggles politely.  
Bettie smiles behind a glove.  
Jane bends over holding her tummy, laughing.  
Prudence grins with mirth.

They watch in the background as Hugh helps the Inspector bring his luggage to the ferry dock for collection. The Constable insisted on bringing him personally, even though the official police car had to be borrowed to do it. Jack hands over his house keys to him and some other documents to pass on to Bettie via Mac. In Hugh fashion, he upends the handful of documents and chases them around the pavement to collect them. Hugh looks through everything and returns the boarding tickets to the Inspector. With that, the two men shake hands in farewell. 

A discerning viewer - and there are at least five of them - can see Hugh briefly flip round to give a thumbs up to his hidden bride while Jack turns to approach the passenger ship gangway.

Hugh was to stay in place for the next few minutes in case the Inspector encountered any difficulty. Any difficulty at all. The countdown starts.

The Inspector has apparently used the incorrect ramp. No matter. He didn't know. The porter who takes his ticket asks him to step to the side while he getting assistance. What? Trouble already? The inspector may have been caught off guard by this but several others have been waiting in anticipation for it. The porter gets the attention of another porter at the luggage drop. The two of them are pointing back and forth between the Inspector and his luggage. The panic on his face registers all the way to where the group of women are standing. 

"Really," Bettie says, "this is a little cruel, isn't it? I guarantee he was already feeling tetchy before this." 

"Nonsense." Prudence stretches up her neck like a giraffe to keep her view. "One would think he'd be more used to this kind of commotion by now." Mac raises her eyebrows in agreement.

A second porter arrives at the top of the gangway to escort Jack to his accommodation. Prudence thinks, "Good, just as I asked for." Jack, on the other hand, is standing with one hand on hip in disagreement, waving his envelope with the other hand and very likely reasoning out some sound argument for the way things should be. The porter holds out a gloved hand, asking for the ticket once again. The gloved man clearly points to a specific part of the ticket; the man in an overcoat bends over at the waist looking at it in disbelief.

Jack returned to upright, took a few steps to lean on the handrail with hand on hip to survey the crowd. It doesn't take long. There they are. Not three wise monkeys, but five. All waving at him innocently. He glanced down at his Constable, whose shrug advertised his accomplice but not innovation of this plan.

"Goodness me!" Prudence exclaims. "He actually smiles."

He was beaming, actually. A rare, unabashed smile that made his nose crinkle. He brings his right hand up and curls his index and middle finger toward him as if one or all of the group can be summoned in this way. Jane takes the bait. She skips to the boat, carrying the picnic basket prepared by Mr. Butler this morning for this very moment.

A porter comes to collect the basket to bring it up to Jack. "Did you really think we wouldn't be here for a proper send off?" Jane was shielding her eyes from the sun.

"And the ticket?"

"We could have told you, Inspector. But, what fun is that?" He thinks she's becoming more like Phryne every day.

"So, what do you do for a proper send off, Jane? Do you just stand here for ages and wave?"

"Maybe if was anyone else. But for YOU, Inspector - I have a surprise." Jane pulls a book out of her pocket. "There is a book inside the basket. The page is marked."

Jack laughs and opens to the page. Jane is dramatically taking off her hat and puffing her chest in preparation for Shakespeare's classic seduction.

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound..."

The inspector plays along willingly. He removes his hat as an acknowledgement for his balcony appearance. Jane continues to boom in the lowest register she can carry.

_"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?_  
_It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."_

The two of them continue. Her Romeo to his Juliet. The rest of the wise monkeys in the background are thoroughly entertained, as are so many more on the docks and along the handrails. Jack and Jane continue reciting to each other as the boat moves away. When they are too far away to hear each other, they wave until they can't see each other. Jack is still smiling when Melbourne dips below the horizon.

 

**16 October, 1929**

The R.M.S. Rawalpindi has been his very comfortable home for the past six weeks. To be fair, he has spend more time at the writing desk in his dark paneled room than anywhere else on the ship.

His first correspondence to Mrs. Prudence Stanley, who he came to understand was responsible for luxury surrounding him. He would have been happy enough to bunk in tight quarters for the journey. However, thanks to his upgrade, he was able to meet and spend a significant amount of time with New Zealander Leslie Comrie. Like Jack, he spent a great deal of time in France during the Great War. Unlike Jack, he returned with a single leg. Bullets don't recognize sides, he is reminded. The leg was removed after it took friendly fire in early 1918. Unlike Jack, Comrie was also severely deaf.

Jack found himself seeking out Comrie frequently. In the beginning, they would pass notes to each other. In time, Jack picks up hand signals and ways to shape his mouth that allows Comrie to understand him quickly. Neither of them are particularly interested in most fellow passengers sharing their class of transport for the journey. Too pompous. Too loud. Before long, the two men moved beyond sharing war stories to more personal ones and eventually to professional ones. Within two weeks, Jack was sharing the reason for his mission. 

Fortuitously, this man is not only a Fellow of the Royal Society, he happens to be the current Deputy Superintendent at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich and the type of man who finds Jack's telescope quip very amusing. The two men, both introverted by nature, connected over respective observations - Comrie's of the stars and mathematical figures, Robinson on human behavior. They develop a friendship during the journey that would keep them close for decades after their arrival into London. It was in this way that Jack receives a private invitation to visit the Royal Observatory so soon.

In the meantime, his ground crew (as he comes to think of them) have been quite busy. Both Mac, via Helle, and Guy Stanley have connections to Richard Collet, the general manager for the opera company at the Savoy. In another happy coincidence, the theatre is preparing to open The Gondoliers, a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta that hasn't been shown since 1889. 

Through Collet, Mr. Butler has made arrangements for a private dinner at the rooftop terrace at the Savoy Hotel. Somehow, this arrangement also includes a week long stay in a room overlooking the Thames. Mr. Butler is less than forthcoming in the cost for this room. He suspects that Prudence Stanley has a hand in this. This is not a topic to be addressed by letter. He is confident he can ascertain the genuine costs of this offer and find a way of repayment to suit both of them.

Mac has also put him in touch with Helle directly, who is both funny and forward. He wasn't quite able to tell from letters if she has known Phryne as well as she has known Mac (or perhaps in the way Helle has KNOWN Mac) but he is very much looking forward to meeting her face-to-face.

Guy Stanley, though helpful, is someone Jack has trepidation in spending time with. Jack wished he wasn't knowledgable in the way of Guy's fudge recipe.

Angela Lawson had apparently made good on her promise for an introduction at Wimbledon. He has a telegraph exchange with Phoebe Watson.

Prudence Stanley held true to her word to make an introduction to Phryne's parents, her mother Margaret in particular. They have already exchanged several telegraphs. The last of these confirmed that they will secretly meet with him upon his arrival in London.

Lastly, Mr. Butler has organized meetings and discussions that allow Jack to make any last minute plans for purchasing tickets for travel, reservations and making menu selections. 

Though he lands today, it will be another two full days before he will see Phryne again.

No, not two days. 52 Hours. 3120 minutes. It is almost close enough to start counting down in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second of two chapters not in 3 parts...or are they actually there but transformed? This shows the bookends of his journey - who is with him at the beginning, who he carries with him and who me meets along the way. The "ocean" part may be heavy handed...forgive me!
> 
> How does the role of physical space change dynamics with his family (ground crew?). What surrounds him? What is he detatched from?
> 
> Which letters to Phryne are written during his steamer journey?
> 
> Back to measures and space...and the connection with Act1/Scene1 of Antony and Cleopatra - the metaphor for them, where the metaphor stops and the new character with a connection to the place of the "non-kiss" at the observatory:
> 
> CLEOPATRA: If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
> 
> MARK ANTONY: There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
> 
> CLEOPATRA: I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
> 
> MARK ANTONY: Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
> 
> PHRYNE: "How could they not realize it needs to be measured in kisses? Heaven and earth are infinitely small in comparison. I meant every one. Madly, deeply in love with you. Your, Phryne"


	8. Ceaselessly Musing, Venturing, Throwing - Seeking the Spheres, to Connect Them

**The Day After Janey's Disappearance**

Margaret hauls herself into the shanty and tilts back into the grimy wall behind her. She has looked everywhere she could think of. Where she hasn't looked, Prudence has. And Edward. Henry is out somewhere with Phryne. 

Janey always stays so close to her older sister. Where could she have gone? Margaret peels through her children's things for a missing note and some clue that didn't register the prior dozen times she looked. The house is so quiet. Too quiet. She should be hearing her girls sing about nonsense in the leaky bathtub dumped in the alleyway. Something bad has happened. Something really bad. Her house doesn't tell her this. Her bones do.

Henry ambles into their house with a careful aimlessness and red-rimmed eyes that expose his location of search. "Where's Phryne?" The warning to him should be evident. "You said that you wanted Phryne with to to look for Janey. Where is she?"

He drops into a chair by the stove. "I left her here. She's a useless bugger."

"HERE?" Margaret looks about in a second wave of panic. Phryne isn't anywhere in sight. Unless. No, he wouldn't. He promised. "Where is she, Henry?" She thrashes about, upending their few pieces of furniture and opening up anything with a door attached to it. In the past when Henry's locked her away, Phryne grumbled and toppled and kicked out to get attention. It is too quiet! The last door was too small, she suspected, for a young girl to fit through. She opens it anyway. The first thing she sees is spiders. Covering her girl! 

"Oh, child. Come out of there quickly." Margaret pulls at Phryne's shift and at her arms to get her out of that damn place. Phryne falls face first to the floor with splat. Margaret swats spider after spider off of her. From her legs, from her hair, from her hair. She ignores the bile creeping up her throat that comes with seeing a spider come out of Phryne's shift pocket.

Excuses are lobbed from behind her. "We already lost one. I thought it would be better to put her where she'd stay put. Aren't you glad? Aren't you glad, Margaret?" 

Margaret pulls Phryne upright. These spiders are everywhere. They aren't supposed to be dangerous but they are huge. The bodies are bigger than an inch each. Then, the legs make them three times as big. She thwacks another away from an arm. Another comes out from her hair onto her shoulder - she flicks it off of her. Are they all gone? Margaret pats down Phryne everywhere and starts adding up the angry, red welts. After 20, her brain stopped working.

"Where exactly were you looking Henry? Was it around the neighborhood again?" Spittle flew from her mouth as she whipped around to confront her husband. "Did you think Janey would show up at a bar? No, that's where YOU go to get lost."

Her attention is back to her oldest daughter. Everything about Phryne herself, aside from those red welts, is covered in a thin sheen of blue. It is so sheer that she isn't sure if she is making it up. "Well, you know she's the one who causes trouble, Margaret. She's the one who lost Janey in the first place."

She doesn't recall how she came to be flailing at her husband. Her closed fists pounding at his face and chest hardly affect him. His arms end up tangled in her as he tries to stop her. He grips her tightly before jerking away, taking her fingernail with him. She slaps him now. "You bastard! You heartless bastard!" The drop of blood from the tip of her finger has slashed across his face. The muscles around her nostrils and upper lip transform her into a shocked, ugly sneer. She turns again to their daughter.

Phryne was a statue, held upright by some glue on the plinth of soft, decaying wood beneath her feet. "We are leaving, Phryne. You need a doctor." Too often Henry came first. That used to be her choice; over time, this became the understood. Not this time. She grabs a shawl for Phryne and her money pouch. She doesn't bother to look for her secret stash; she knows that Henry had already found it. She hopes that she will be able to secure transport to Prudence's house with the little she has. Phryne isn't in much shape to be walking long distances.

"Margaret!" Henry whines at her. "You can't go. You can't leave me."

She whirled around to face him. "You'd best find Janey. It is the only way you will EVER get me back." She annexes herself to Phryne and charges through the door.

His tinny, helpless voice is barely audible in the background. "Now, how am I supposed to do that?"

 

**Two Days After Janey's Disappearance**

Guy Stanley is perched on his hip next to his older cousin in one of the special guest rooms. He isn't allowed to play in here. She stares vacantly at the wall in front of her. He knows something is wrong and it wants to fix it. He likes it better when she is taking care of him. He tries to make her laugh. He starts by telling her of a really loud fart he had in the kitchen with cook. He snorts in amusement while recanting his tale. She doesn't respond. So, he tells her about when he was chewing with his mouth wide open. Cook smacked him upside the head, mussing his hair. He doesn't care about things like that. It is worth saving up his stories to laugh with Phryne and Janey about it later. Janey is always shy about his tales but Phryne laughs really hard and sometimes makes him do it again. He'll tell her a story about Arthur. It is a risk because Phryne is protective of his brother. But, it was really good how he got him this time. Guy relates how he got Arthur to put gum all over his hair and face and nice new jumper. "Ha ha, Phryne. Isn't that funny." She turned her head and looked at him with a level of hurt so deep he wishes he could take all of his words and stuff them back into his mouth.

"I'm sorry Phrynekins. I didn't mean it. I didn't really do that." Well, he did mean it and he really did do that but he didn't mean to hurt Phryne. She was his favorite, favorite. Stupid Arthur. He ruins everything. Even now. Arthur isn't even in the room and he makes everything worse. Guy hasn't told anyone but he thinks that if Arthur didn't need someone to watch him all the time, someone would have been watching the girls and Janey wouldn't be gone. Then, Phryne wouldn't be so sad now.

He tries one more thing. Usually, she squeals when he tickles her feet. Nothing now. Guy pats at her hand. "I will read to you, cousin. Perhaps that will help." Guy leans to pick up Grimm's Fairy Tales, which he put on her bedside table to share with her. He likes the story of the devil's cape and how the devil falls in love with a blond girl. There is a drawing with grapes and all kinds of fruit around the girl and the devil pleading with her and everything to get her to undo the blonde hair she fixed his cape with. He can't read all of the words but he knows the story well enough to know how to make bits up in the middle. It is so much better than that stupid Hansel and Gretel. Even, if it does have a house made of candy. 

He had overheard the doctor speaking to his aunt earlier today. He thinks he knows the kind of spiders that bit her. They do bite and it stings a little but it isn't as if one bite will make you sick. Phryne has 43 bites on her. He can see the ones on her face and neck and hands. The worst part would have been if she couldn't breathe. But, she's breathing okay. He looks over at the untouched ginger tea on the bedside table and wonders if he should ask her to drink some more. It is there just in case she feels sick in her stomach. The bites look really bad but that isn't the real problem. The real problem is that she won't talk to anyone. It probably has something to do with her sister being gone. Janey might have been taken. No one knows. She just disappeared.

He kisses her cheek and descends off the bed, butt first. He isn't noticed when he walks into the parlor. He's never noticed. The good thing, though is that he gets to hear things he shouldn't. He's been hearing a lot of things he shouldn't have heard since his Aunt Margie arrived. His mummy wants her to live with them now. She doesn't even care about the scandal of it. Maybe, if Phryne lives here, it will be more fun. When she gets better, that is. Then, they can tie together the stable master's shoes again.

Butler appeared at the parlor door with his Uncle Henry behind him in a beige linen suit. He is clean shaven and carrying wilted flowers. He doesn't notice the woman approaching behind him. "Ow!" Maid is twisting his ear and pulling him out of the parlor. "Little ears have been getting too brave."

 

**16 October, 1929**

"Jack!" He holds the Inspector's hand with both of his. It is no surprise to Jack that he is received warmly by the Baron. "It's Henry, please. This is my beautiful wife, Margaret."

"How do you do, Inspector?" She holds her hand to him wrist up so that he can lift it to his mouth with his fingers for a polite, introductory kiss.

"I'm not on official business over here. Please, call me Jack." Henry starts to open his mouth, presumably to quip about using Jack's first name when Jack won't use his. His wife is faster.

"Very well, Jack. It is so nice to meet you. I have heard many things from Phryne and from my sister, Prudence." So, here is the fount of effortless grace. The charm comes from Henry. The gumption from Prudence. The street smarts from...well, life in Collingwood, most likely.

He likes to see the connections. It also makes it easier to take her parents on their own merits. He knows of Phryne's stories. He wants to know those stories and understand how it has shaped who she is. However, he isn't inclined to make her fights his own. Especially, as he sees her shadowboxing. The father whom Phryne addresses is not the repentant, and often misguided, man he is today. She sees someone in her distant past who was not the man she needed him to be. Be honest, he tells himself. Phryne was traumatized at this man's hands. The mother, though gentle and loving, was complicit in this. He can't ignore this and he won't. He won't live in her past, either. He can't know whether they are the reason she continues to blame herself for Janey's disappearance. Yet, because these two are so entwined in her life, because she was willing to risk her life to reunite them, he made himself a promise to take them at face value, with who they are today. He trusts his observations. He hopes that the reunion of her parents repairs her enough to consider him over his mirage.

"...intentions, dear?" He blinked at Margaret. "My intentions for Phryne?" He wings it, assuming a question most likely asked to a trailing suitor by an interested parent. "I would hope it goes without saying that I'm quite serious about pursuing her." He intentionally leaves out any words about marriage, betrothal, engagement, legal commitment. They will insert those words into their memory for him. He isn't ready to risk Phryne's allergic reaction to such ideas.

He recalls something shared during his unlikely correspondence with Prudence Stanley. _"Margaret was swept away by the passion of it all. She thought that every one who met Henry would succumb to his charm the way that she did and that this would make the world open for her. Indeed, she cared not one jot for the lack of money until her children were old enough for school. Margaret was deeply ashamed when her children required delousing. Or, when she couldn't afford books. Or, when Henry used his talents to teach Phryne how to pick locks and break into safes. That was Henry's way of preparing Phryne for real life. My Margaret was so clever and so resourceful. However, it is impossible to be resourceful when you have nothing to be resourceful with, even for her. I'm certain you can understand that, Inspector. She resented me deeply when I would remind her of this. She never understood that the reason I was so hard on him is because she is the best person I know. She deserved better. I dare say their relationship went a long way into shaping how Phryne would consider her marriage prospects. I had hoped that she would be quite particular about who she chose. She may have been, in the end. However, I have yet to see whether she will accept a proposal of marriage from even you, Inspector, if that is your intention."_

He had no idea if that was his intention. His desire was to spend the rest of his life with her. Does that require marriage? He no longer knew.

"Have you had time to catch up with your daughter whilst she has been in London, Baroness?" 

"Not nearly enough. I'm afraid I'm not quite ready for her to return to Australia." 

He wonders why she isn't staying with them. "She stayed with us for the first two weeks. I'm surprised she stayed that long. Of course, she went to book at the Savoy. When we heard of these plans, we spoke with them to have her transferred to the Trafalgar for a day or two. I was with her when this happened. " Margaret giggled. "She was fit to be tied. I haven't seen her make a fuss like that for quite some time. She ended up staying there whole time on principle."

Margaret looks at him more seriously now. "Do you have all you need for your plans?" He asks for some time after dinner to write a letter for Phryne. He gives this to her before he leaves.

Henry walks him out. "I know Phryne doesn't like me very much. She is angry at me. I would take it all back, if I could."

"Have you tried an apology?" Henry looks perplexed. "It might help." Jack extends his hand before wishing him good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may see in the comments below a suggestion to include the thoughts/questions I had as a writer to give some insight into the choices happening here. I am starting by adding the questions here but will add these to each chapter as well. If it triggers some thoughts for you, they way they clearly did for me (else, I wouldn't post), please comment and start a discussion!
> 
> The whole spider concept...again, who is it here and how does it relate to the importance of being (and having) a witness?
> 
> Jack (in his career) is by nature an observer...as are Mac and Mr. Butler (IMO). However, he's getting a taste of what it means to transition to the other side - to what it means to be part of something. With that, what do you do when you need both? How does one transition between those spaces?
> 
> Also, what is the role of having a witness and how does play in one's healing? There is not an undamaged character in the bunch but they are all brilliant in their own way...and I include Henry in this, though he has a long (loooiinnnnggg) way to go.
> 
> For me, this is when the poem (the Whitman poem) starts to transition from loneliness to hope; it is the first time a connection somewhere, somehow will be made. What do you think?


	9. Till The Bridge You Will Need, Be Form'd - Till The Ductile Anchor Hold;

**10:30 am on Thursday, 17 October, 1929 at The Crystal Palace**

"You must be Jack!" It comes out as Jacques. A force of nature is walking toward him with her arms elegantly extended. He is about to be greeted with kisses in a European style. He tries to remember what Mr. Butler told him...is it two or three? Which side? He pauses to let her show him. Two, then. That didn't go so badly. The right side of his mouth pulls in admiration, despite itself. The winner of Mac's heart is Phryne's spiritual twin, of course. 

Helle Nice is wearing a white one-piece, rally racing jumpsuit. They way she walks in it lets him know she can make anything move fast. Her goggles are draped into the crook of her elbow and her racing hat buckle resting in her hand. "I have heard much about you! It is so good to see a friend of Mac's." He shouldn't be surprised by her genuine warmth. He has had every indication so far that a friend of Mac's is a friend of hers and a friend of hers will be one until the day she dies.

"Thank you so much for meeting me and agreeing to this."

"Of course. This shall be quite fun. We are driving today, yes?"

"Oh. Uh." He thinks about it. A sly grin rises on his face. "Can we?" He follows her into the garage to look at some cars. Her Ducatti isn't here but there are plenty of other selections. There is a sleek, long car that is entirely black save the red spokes along the wheels. She looks over at him "Yes, that one is a good racer. A 1928 Stutz. Champion automobile. We'll try it." She scans his physique - first for fun, then for the purpose of sizing garments. "We need to get you some overalls and goggles." She leaves him to walk around the garage before coming back with a larger white jumpsuit. "It is more comfortable in shirt sleeves. If you are shy, I can turn away." She's teasing him. "But, since I am doing you such a big favor, I think I shall stay to watch."

"If you tell Phryne, I won't live this down. I am relying on your discretion." 

"Of course. A good woman never tells." She indicates for him to get in the driver's seat. He leans over to her, "Is this any different than driving a police vehicle?" She leans back, "I've never driven a police vehicle. Let's find out."

She guides him around the mile-long track, advising him to look out for changes between tarmac and packed gravel, the nature of the turns and the cement. "The winners have the fastest speed around the turns. On the straights, it is easy - just go fast. The turns are more difficult." They try a few different places to slow, coast or speed up into a turn. She demonstrates how to cut the corners of a curve to reduce the distance on the road and to make it easier to accelerate coming out of a bend. "If you go fast all the way through," she explains, "you lose speed for skidding. Your tires should be going along the turn as much as possible and as fast as possible." After a few laps, they switch sides. He thought he was driving fast. Oh, no. That car could go much, much faster. Oh, to have all morning with her. He'd be able to catch up with that Hispano Suiza even in the standard issue police vehicle. Now, wouldn't that surprise her.

They return to the garage where another car catches his attention. Helle's eye catches him. "What is this car?" It was shorter than the Stutz. Based on what he's just learned about how to drive around curves, he thinks it might be even faster. 

"A Benz. SSK. You like it?" He finds himself nodding. "Alright. Let's go!"

Helle lets Jack drive again. She is impressed. He's a quick learner. Funny, though...he knows his limits to the spec. He uses every last thing available to him but just doesn't cross the line. As a driver who finds her own limits just to break them as quickly as possible, she wants to find his buttons and press them all at the same time to see if she can get him to lose control just a little bit. To see if she what she would need to do to make him fly. She remembers Phryne now. Ah ha, this is the appeal for her as well. 

"So. In the end, Jacques, which one shall it be? Which is the automobile for tomorrow?" 

"This one." His hand tenderly strokes the door of the SSK. It is faster and it feels faster. DuBois never would have chosen this one; she knew DuBois socially a decade ago as an insecure man with a temper. Even her Philip - magnate, wine grower, fellow racer - he would have chosen the best for himself and chosen the second best for her. This one is a good choice, she thinks.

Mac will be glad to hear it.

 

**1 pm on Thursday, 17 October, 1929 at Wimbledon**

He waits at the green to meet Phoebe Watson, a connection made by Angela Lombard. However crass and ruthless that woman is, she keeps her word. He cannot say that he likes her company as much as he likes the idea of her existing. His grudging admiration is more often than not paired with grateful absence. His gratefulness for her absence. Still, if it wasn't for the directed lust of this particular tennis champion, he'd not be standing here. He recalls Phryne's words the night he decided to finally stay.

"How ... exactly ...did Angela Lombard obtain your assistance in removing her dress?"

Phryne - as if she could compete with you. He finds her jealousy odd for such a free-spirit. According to her, she has not one jot of jealousy; rather she has a polite curiosity. She can fool herself for a few days longer but only that. She has been surprisingly transparent in her feelings of other women he has been romantically involved with...even ones from his past that stay there. He recalls their discussion at the Sanderson residence and in that moment he introduced his wife Rosie (ex-wife, Jack). Phryne wouldn't look at Rosie straight in the face for the rest of the day. She did, however, politely and curiously confront him with a photo of happier days in his marriage when he was clearly examining photos of the crime scene. A stranger walking into that room couldn't be blamed in thinking that somehow the Inspector's fidelity to his fellow detective was the one that should be in question. Surely, Rosie had the bigger right, if there was such a thing at all. 

And Concetta. When would he have ever (ever!) sidled up to any of her lovers - old or new - to glean information about their current status? He should be more upset about this. Instead, he basks. Does she realize what she implies, without asking? He wonders what she would do if he launched a defense of keeping old friends. The thought amuses him but he would never actually do it. Too dangerous.

This topic gives him the most consternation and not just for her but for him as well. What does freedom give her - and does he want the same for himself? He wants her for her first but he thinks of what that might mean.

Does he want nights by the fire or rights over her funds? This is so simple - he wants her, not her accounts.  
Does he want her side by side for investigations or knowing she's home reading a book. Also simple - her by his side.  
What about fun? parties? dancing? Yes, yes, and yes - it is like breathing to her.  
It is the rest he can't think about. The possibility that he might not be enough. And, would that mean he has an obligation to do the same to keep things balanced between them? 

The question is too big for him. He isn't getting anywhere with it. Neither can give in to the other. They are going to have to resolve over time and in-person. He hopes for her kindness in this.

A young woman in whites is running over to him. "Mr. Robinson!" she calls.

"Ah, Mrs. Watson, I presume. I'm Jack Robinson. Thank you for meeting me. I wanted to introduce myself before your appointment with Miss Fisher tomorrow. She's quite interested in international programs to support female athletes..."

 

**8 pm on Thursday, 17 October, 1929 at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich**

"Leslie, it is nice to see you again." Jack receives a companionable shake from Leslie Comrie. "Thank you for meeting me here." The two men stand along a brass marker extending out from the Royal Observatory Building entrance. At his side is a painted white sign post with distance to global cities pointing in four directions. Who thought to define that this spot - and no other - was where the official start to each and every day would be. As if you come across an already drawn perfect circle and arbitrarily point to a spot on the circumference to say "the beginning of the circle is here" - nowhere else. It confuses him that something so scientific can be so arbitrarily defined.

"Science is written about by humans." Comrie explains. "Facts are facts but words and measures are things that our human brains have to comprehend. And, of course, there is the continuous improvement of understanding that needs to be taken into account. The north-south line which defines zero-degrees longitude was first used in 1851. It was calculated by George Biddell Airy, who was an astronomer here. If this happened to be conceived six hundred years earlier in the heyday of Arabic mathematicians, the Prime Meridian may well be located at Mecca. Such is the role of discovers in our world. Even so, innovations in technology has required us to shift this line bit by bit. It isn't the line that is static but the improvement on how to measure it that causes us to refine our understanding of it all."

"How does that work?"

"An Airy Transit Circle is the instrument used to make these measurements. When a star passes over the instrument, it is possible to derive the angular coordinates of that star. It is how we map the heavens. Simultaneously, time is measured against this movement, giving us a clock. A day, as you know, is measured in the full rotation of the earth. We map the earth against the stars and the stars against the earth."

"So, it is all relative."

Comrie laughed. "It is funny you should say that. Our current head of this institute and his predecessor were at 2 different locations - one in Brazil, the other on an island near Africa - during a 1919 eclipse, gathering the first evidence supporting Einstein's Theory of General Relativity. It was quite a large story at the time. The best part is - and mark my words - is that measurements due to understanding relativity will cause a new measurement of the Prime Meridian. It will shift at least once more and probably iteratively over time."

"That's remarkable." Jack wasn't quite sure that he was fully understanding what the scientist was saying. "So, what does this all mean?"

"Mean? Oh, goodness, Jack. It means that you need to keep your instruments sharp and that you can't get too attached to what you think is 'true'. The evidence speaks for itself. If you don't follow the evidence, you will be left behind."

"But surely, the laws of science tell us..."

"They tell us what looks to be most true at the time. Proof is proof, and as far as I know, this can only been seen in mathematics. However, science reflects life; it isn't so perfect as the world of pure maths. We do our best to understand it. Laws and Theories are borne out of hypothesis. They are tested until there is a large body of empirical data to support their existence. They aren't to be believed - they are to be questioned mercilessly. And if they can be proved to be false, they are false. Our opinions on such things are irrelevant. Humbling, isn't it?"

"Very."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions I was considering as I wrote: 
> 
> The bridge is being formed. Out of what? From where to where, whom to whom. Who/what will cross it? Is it a case of throwing things out until something sticks...then build it there? The next line (chapter) implies that but what does it mean for the comfort of a deliberate, cautious man to be part of this? 
> 
> Is the scavenger hunt dress rehearsal a way of trying out the bridge? Reinforcing it where necessary? 
> 
> The ductile anchor: The word ductile implies strength of a material as it is draw into wire but more importantly, it refers to the ability to deform without losing any toughness. An anchor is used largely as a temporary measure to pause, perhaps to stay and enjoy the location for a bit or to connect to the sea floor as a protection against weather. Presumably, it is lifted again once ready to re-embark on a journey. 
> 
> Where is the deformation happening? 
> 
> What is happening with Jack's views of fidelity/monogamy. Why does it have to change so much before he ever talks to Phryne about it (they really haven't discussed this at all). How does this have so much to do with her decision to leave without consulting him?


	10. Till The Gossamer Thread You Fling, Catch Somewhere, O My Soul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of this Chapter coincides with the end of Chapter 9 of Come After Me: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4689194/chapters/10838102
> 
> Unsportsmanlike: They start together.  
> Come After Me: Phryne's Experience  
> Noiseless, Patient Spider: Jack's Experience

**6:55 am on Friday, 18 October, 1929 at The Trafalgar Hotel**

_"Arrived in London. Come find me."_

The first card is transferred to the porter along with a letter to be delivered minutes after the note. It isn't the delicate touch he prefers to wake her with. Perhaps tomorrow. He hopes, tomorrow. She has only had a few hours of sleep. Should he feel bad about this? He shrugs away. She can detect on less and thrive on it. Besides, adventure trumps sleep. He'll bet his hat on it. 

Right now, the porter is knocking at her door. She's thinking that she might ignore it. Then, she thinks better of it - it may be an emergency. Perhaps, there is something that has happened with her parents or with Jane. One of her robes slips across her shoulders. Perhaps the boldly embroidered black one. It is her favorite. Her hair is disheveled and a confused crease appears in between her eyebrows. Her lips are softer in the morning; they haven't decided what to say yet. It is the best time to catch her off guard.

How long until she knows who sent the note?

She might still be standing in her robe. She might be walking to the window as if looking onto the pavement will provide her some early clues. That would have been a nice touch. Instead, he is on the first floor of the Trafalgar at a breakfast table, drinking tea and overlooking the lobby.

Now, her breakfast is being delivered. He's feeds her in lieu of affording a prized slumber. 

_"You said hurry. I did. Now, it is your turn. Eat up and be downstairs in 45 minutes. You have a full day. Anything can happen. Dress for it. Nothing else needed."_

He wonders about her morning routine. With a forty five minute allotment, it is assured he has hampered her again. It is equally assured that she will be equal parts stunning, alert and ready for ... well, she doesn't know what for yet. He looks at his watch.

One minute late.

Two minutes late.

He sees the back of her as she trots out of the elevator, arms just lifted away from her torso as if the wind could pick her up to take her to where she wanted to go. Jack smiles. She never just walks anywhere. The concierge greets her in the center of the lobby. Now, he directs her outside and into to a car. She looks disappointed as she accepts the letter. 

Had she turned around, had she just looked up... Part of him wanted her to so that he wouldn't have to wait a second longer. He has to be patient. He'll be glad for this later. And, look what he has learned: never give her too much time to spot the redirection. That's what magic is, isn't it? This is now one of his few defenses. He knows it won't always work. Still, he takes what he can get.

Jack thinks back to the shooting star they saw just after the Collins' wedding. He'll never admit to wishing on them. But for this one in particular, he closes his eyes and thinks to himself, "Please, come true."

 

**2:30 pm at the Savoy Theatre**

"Inspector, is that you?"

Jack looked over and felt his lips curve upwards. "Mr. Tarrant, is it? It seems unlikely that we should meet here of all places." He extends a hand.

Bart explains that his daughter Leila is in this production. Their return to London allows him to support her fledgling career in the theatre - the one Dorothea never had. Best to have someone who speaks fluent thespian, he comments to himself. When did he start remembering everything she said to him? "What brings you here, Inspector?"

Oh, that is a bit more difficult to explain. "Phryne's here." He looks sheepish.

Bart looks so excited. "Phryne! Oh, how lovely. I wasn't aware that the two of you are a couple."

"It is fairly new." Is that accurate? With a time of minus 6 to 8 hours and no assurance that they will be a "couple" at that time, he is hard pressed to make that commitment. This summary is as good as any other.

That is, it was as good as any other until he realizes that Bart has sussed out that something hasn't quite added up between Jack's face and Jack's words. "It is a little more complex than that." He finds himself inexplicably needing to tell this man all that he has been up to. He starts from the Ruddigore murders to his divorce, the near misses, the farewell at the airfield. Jack remembers Dorothea and the live Bart didn't get, in the end.

"She doesn't know I'm here yet." Jack admits to the older man. The magnitude of what he has just admitted to hits him. Bart's eyebrows raise, his eyes are twinkling. He props the Inspectors by his elbow and guides him into a much needed seat. 

"Do I take it that you don't know what you have gotten yourself into?"

Jack raises his right hand to pinch at the brow of his nose. 

"Not quite." He takes a deep breath. "How well do you know Phryne?"

Bart laughed. "Oh, well enough."

Jack nodded and smiled in acknowledgement. Ruefully, thought Bart. "Then you probably know how likely she is to fully appreciate a man like myself coming after her."

"When you say 'a man like yourself', do you mean a man she thinks highly of?" Jack didn't know what to say to that. Bart continued. "A man she asked to come after her?"

He stops and looks at the man in front of him. At the time, Bart was so worried about his production and his ruin, he didn't register what he registered at the time: Phryne's deep affection for this man. Phryne started speaking fluent thespian well after Janey and not so long after Rene. She had little regard for the law and for those who promised to uphold it. The Inspector must have turned her very quickly to have had him at her side as much as she did during her ghost hunt.

"I can't hold on to her."

"No, you can't. But, you can let her hold on to you." That thought needed to settle. Maybe.

"What would you do over again?" He hadn't allowed this sort question in the past six weeks. He couldn't manage questioning anything about this idea once the steamer ticket was in his hand. 

"I loved Dorothea passionately. You know this, Inspector." Bart's eyes redden. The rest of his face is controlled as a master actor's would be. "I lost her twice. The first was when I decided to come to London and she decided not to. The second time was when I found her in her dressing room. It was twenty years before I learned that she didn't die by her own hand but murdered so that she and I wouldn't be together." Bart paused. "You don't quite believe it enough, do you? That a separation may not be because your beloved doesn't love you as much in return. I let myself doubt it. I came here and left her there, thinking that was what she wanted. How could I not know she was having my child? That thought never leaves me, Inspector. As a man, you don't want to be forceful...especially with a talented, independent woman. You want to see her thrive, don't you? And in this day and age...well,I didn't think she needed me. Not in the way I needed her. I couldn't admit that either - that I needed her. In the end, I was a coward. Love wasn't enough. I regret that every day."

Those were Jack's thoughts almost exactly. He and Phryne - they come to each other when they need help on a case or on behalf of someone else. Rarely, if ever for themselves. Even Foyle - that was to prevent future murders. DuBois - to protect Bert.

Until now. He can ask now. He thinks he can, anyway.

"Inspector?" Bart got his attention again. "What are you going to do?" He then listened in earnest as he learned of Phryne's scavenger hunt around London, already in play. "I am very pleased to see that you will not be repeating my mistake, Inspector."

"Perhaps, you should see how I look on Sunday. It could still go horribly wrong, I'm afraid. At any rate, I'm here to pick up tickets for the Gondoliers. Hopefully, the both of us will be attending."

"How wonderful! Now, let's see what tickets you have..."

 

**7:55 pm at the Rooftop Terrace at the Savoy Hotel**

_"Dear Phryne,_

_Rooftop Terrace. I'm waiting._

_Love,  
Jack"_

He slips the invitation into the envelope and hands it to the porter. The last one. Finally, it is close enough to count down in seconds:   
_300, 299, 298, ..._

For the past two hours, she has been in his room (their room?). She would have found the hidden notes immediately. And, he would bet money she has put her fingers on all of his clothes. She would have smelled his aftershave. For how long as he given her free reign wherever she's asked for it? 

_232, 231, 230, ..._

He thinks back to the first...no, to the second...time he has summoned her. The first time he showed up at her house rather than wait at the office to understand how she came to abscond with a suspect and daughter of the murder victim. The second time involved a handing over of plates. What should have been catalogued evidence he handed over to be incinerated. He was lucky to have not been discovered. But, she came. She came without knowing why. The look that passed between them from over her shoulder as she departed is so easily rekindled. She was proud of him. Why should he have cared? He still does.

_180, 179, 178, ..._

Jack looks over the Thames. He is mildly aware of streaks of white and blue being disturbed by the late night barges moving upriver. The gust of wind crossing his forehead soothes him. Yet, he feels compelled to soothe his hair just afterwards.

_120, 119, 118, ..._

How many times had they invitations to each other been ignored? How many times did he beg off...waiting for a more suitable time, a more comfortable state of dress, sobriety? He, himself, had cast out a dozen times or more, surprised at her lack of response. Now, he knows that subtlety can be as effective as a brick wall. She likes neither when she's not in the mood...and both when she is. Ridiculous woman.

_85, 84, 83, ..._

The telltale clicking of her shoes echoes across the parquet from the interior hallway. He walks to the door. She has breezed past him again, unaware that he is just behind and to the right of her.

That dress. She makes that dress more beautiful than he could have imagined. Twilight makes the pink of her dress blend into her skin so it looks like it is her glistening with amongst the roses and vines draping up and across her lovely figure. She calls out his name. He doesn't recognize the emotion - is it duress? No, it is panic. His response is immediate and visceral. He moves to calm her.

"Phryne, I'm right here."

Before his hand captures hers, his heart leaps into his mouth so it could be the first to greet her. Somehow, he has caught her with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gossamer thread, the little notes, the delicate touch he wishes he were waking her with...all tenuous individually. But the web can still be strong.
> 
> The randomness of "you fling catch somewhere" continues with the idea in the previous chapter. Do you try and try and try until something sticks? But, this journey was hardly random. It was planned to the minute. 
> 
> What was "caught"? If a person - Phryne, in particular - she'll rail against it. End of story. So, this isn't exactly right here but the idea of it still rings true (for me). Again...what caught? Perhaps an idea?
> 
> If the idea of "I", "You" and "Spider" (soul?), can really be translated into "He", "She" and "Space Between Them", what does that mean about freedom for them to be who they are and how to create a space for them to live/explore together?


End file.
